Chapter 47
When Peter first laid me on his bed, I’d been resolved to do whatever it took to keep him distracted from killing the next boy on the Sister’s list. But then his hands trailing my body had sent me back to my parents’ parlor, to the feel of velvet underneath my fingernails as I dug them into the chair upholstery, trying to focus on any sensation other than what the men did to me. I’d been on the edge of panic, seeing shadows in the corners of my vision.
So I’d slipped my hand into the pocket of my trousers, then pressed my powder-dusted fingertips to Peter’s mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I’d whispered as his eyes went wide, his body still with the rapid effects of the rushweed. Even now, for the life of me, I can’t fathom why I apologized, except that the betrayal in his blue eyes had rent my Mated soul in two.
Part of me wonders if I should have killed him then. But as of now, he’s sprawled across his bed, body immobilized for the time being.
I give myself three breaths when I get back to my room.
Three breaths to trace the Mating Mark on my face. To feel its dips and rivulets in my skin. I used to think of them as freckles, but now their shape reminds me of tears.
Three breaths to hold onto that dream I’ve had since I was just a child.
When my lungs rattle on the fourth breath, I tuck my hands by my sides.
And let the dream shatter.
“John.” I shake my brother awake. He rolls over, saliva glistening on his cheek as he rubs his eyes.
He looks so young like this.
Not young enough.
“Mmm?”
“Pack yours and Michael’s stuff, then meet me by the storehouse. You’ll have to climb, but it’s less steep on the western side of the bluff,” I say.
This seems to get John’s attention. His eyes shoot open, and he props himself up on his elbow in the cot. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “But I need you to trust me.”
“How am I supposed to trust you when you wake me up in a panic and tell me we’re leaving in the middle of the night, but nothing’s wrong?”
“Fine.” I bite my lip. “Something’s very wrong, but I don’t have time to tell you. I’ll tell you on the way, all right?”
John stares me down, but he doesn’t argue. He just hops out of the bed and starts packing, much too loudly for my preference.
“I have an offer to make you.”
“Are you going to say please?”
I grit my teeth and stare down the man who ruined my life. Captain Astor is still drowsy from yesterday’s dose and can barely move his toes. Still, he stares at me with such arrogance. Like he’s the one with the upper hand. Like he’s the one who has me in invisible shackles.
“You came searching for me,” I say. “You need me for something; I know you do. Well, you found me, found a way into Neverland. I need you to take my brothers and me to the spot in Neverland that got you from our realm to this one.”
It’s a gamble, especially because Peter claimed the gaps only work in one direction—entering Neverland. But Peter’s a liar, and I’d be willing to bet this is just one of the falsehoods he’s told to keep the Lost Boys from escaping Neverland.
The captain flashes his teeth at me. “Darling, you found me half-dead, washed up on the beach. Do you want me to take you and your brothers on my back and swim you out to the middle of the ocean? Something tells me if you had your arms wrapped around me, one of us would enjoy it significantly more than the other.”
I don’t give him the opportunity to expound on which one of us he thinks that is. “No. There’s no way you weaseled your way into Neverland without having an escape plan. If I hadn’t found you and drugged you, I’d be tied up and stuffed in a barrel on a ship somewhere in the middle of the sea.”
The captain pouts. “Come now, Darling. You really think I’d stuff you in a barrel? Really, tying you up is where I draw the line. I do possess some morals, you know.”
I jut out my hand, but he just stares at it as it dangles midair.
“You seem to be forgetting that my arms don’t work,” he says. “Besides, the annoying thing about bargains is that they have to be beneficial to both parties.”
“The part that’s beneficial to you is that I don’t let you starve. Slowly.”
The captain’s eyes flicker. “I wasn’t aware humans could grow spines this late in their development. Even so, I don’t believe you.”
“I’d do it without batting an eye.”
“Tell me, did you ever come up with more incriminating evidence for that poor deranged man you gutted, or was he not wearing any more jewelry?”
My face pales, and even in the moonlight, the captain’s fae eyes sense it. Home in on the blood draining from my face. “Ah. So there is more to that story, after all.”
“Just get us out of here. Anything you want.”
“This sounds familiar. You should be careful with how many people you give your anythings to. Soon enough, you’ll have people shouting conflicting orders at you. It might just tear you limb from limb.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “Please. Please, I’m begging you. Just get my brothers out.”
He stares at my outstretched hand, then without feeling says, “I don’t strike fae bargains anymore. Too messy. Too many unintended consequences.”
“Then I give you my word,” I say, infusing my voice with as much fervor as I can. “Just tell me what you want from me, and I’ll do it.”
The captain considers me for a moment. Opens his lips, then shuts them again. Then he grins. “You, my dear, are a Darling little liar.”
I gasp, like I’ve been struck across the face. “I’m not lying.”
The captain rolls his eyes. “You say you’ll free me, give me anything I wish in return, but you’re only saying that because you’ve discovered something unsettling about that boy with wings. Something you think is new, but has always been there, lurking under the surface.”
“I’m done with him,” I say, hugging my torso. I know better than that, know it will only signal weakness to the vile captain, but I can’t help myself.
“If only,” he says, considering me. “Then perhaps you and I could make a good team. But we’ve already established I know him better than you do, and I’m aware of his devices—the type of weak minds he preys upon. And you, Wendy Darling, are weak-minded. I’ve known it since the moment I laid eyes on you, saw you dolled up in that horrific wedding garb, decked out like a porcelain doll up for auction. As empty-headed as one, too.”
“I’m not stupid,” I say, clenching my torso as I bite back tears.
The captain’s face almost softens. “No. No, you’re not. And isn’t that the tragic bit of this story?”
I’m sobbing now, and I hate myself for it. Hate myself for baring my weakness in front of this awful man, for reinforcing every unflattering word he says about me.
“Don’t fret, Darling. I’ll see you when the winged boy has his claws in you again, when he’s convinced you that your mind is playing tricks on you. Of all the ways you were wrong to doubt him. Then the two of us can go back to our typical banter. It’s much more pleasant that way, don’t you think?”
“I hate you,” I seethe.
“I hate you back, Darling.” He smiles.
I throw a rock at him on my way out.