Chapter 68
Chapter Sixty-Eight
ALICE
If I could roll my eyes any louder, I would. I hate the way he calls me princess, and I hate even more the way something inside me warms to it. Bloody infuriating man.
I consider snatching the sword, but he's right—he is a pirate, and his blade work outclasses mine by leagues. My chances of wrestling it from him range from none to absolutely bloody none. Still, the image of pushing him into the overgrowth and watching him land on his arse holds a certain appeal.
The ground rumbles beneath our feet as I contemplate various ways to wound his pride. Hook's hand clamps around my arm, yanking me forward. "Quick, step into it. It's moving."
Thunder rolls under the earth, rocks shaking around us.
The vibration concentrates beneath our feet, and he's right—the entrance shifts before our eyes.
It slides right, moving far too fast for something made of stone.
We move with it, the path glimmering strangely in the dim light.
After a few feet, it jerks to a stop, nearly sending us sprawling.
The moment it stills, Hook attacks the brambles and vines blocking our path to the gates, his movements precise and controlled.
"Give me your knife," I say, holding out my hand before he can refuse. "I can help. You took the sword —don't make me stand here watching you do this. I can cut too."
He hesitates, jaw tight, then draws the knife from its sheath and hands it over. "Watch you don't sever a finger. The blade's sharp."
"Watch you don't cut the vines and nick your ego while you're at it," I retort, turning to tackle the mess of growth around the fencing.
A metal fence blocks our path, creating a bottleneck we can't skirt around. It's formed a tunnel, trapping us in until we clear it. Brilliant.
The knife Hook gave me proves its worth immediately. The blade cuts clean through the vines, but this task won't be quick. The growth is thick, woven together as if it's been here for ages. Perhaps it has.
But if the amulet waits inside—if my gut instinct proves right—then this isn't natural growth. It's a trap.
We're halfway through when I notice the state of my legs. Blood trickles down from dozens of scratches. The thorns catch and tear at what's left of my skirt, dragging crimson lines across my thighs. I look like I've gone ten rounds with an angry cat.
"It's moving again," Hook's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I grip the fence. "How do you know?"
"Did you not feel it?"
No, I hadn't. But then—
The path lurches.
Not the slow rumble from before. This motion hits sharp and violent. My hands slam against the railing, but the thorns tear into my palms. Instinct screams at me to let go, but—
The path jerks again.
Twists.
Pulls.
Wonderland's twisted version of a fairground ride throws us about.
My foot shoots through a mass of vines, searching for stability.
They snap under my weight, but the intact ones twist around my bare leg, thorns biting deep.
I grab the rail again—all this in mere seconds—but Hook's already ahead, gripping the fence where he's cleared the path.
"Is this normal?" I grit out, pain sharpening my words.
"How the hell should I know?" Hook snaps. "I've not been here before."
The path bucks again, violence in its movement.
"I think it's trying to shake us off," I say through clenched teeth.
"No shit."
My grip on the rail weakens. Hook holds steady, but he's moving closer. He's just ahead, and I'm not sure how much longer I can hang on. The path throws us about like a demented mechanical bull, except this one has murder on its mind.
Hook positions himself behind me, one hand still on the rail. He squares his body to mine.
"It's spinning."
His free arm comes around me, other hand gripping the opposite rail, caging me in. Protecting me.
"Let go of the rail," he orders.
"I don't—"
"You can."
When I release my grip, the motion throws me back against him. My spine connects with his chest as his arms tighten, pressing me into the railing, anchoring us both. His hands are as torn as mine, blood marking his grip, but he doesn't falter. Doesn't let go.
For all his sharp words, all his claims that I don't matter—this moment tells a different story.
His breath warms my neck. His face hovers too close, cheek brushing mine as he speaks.
"Don't close your eyes." His voice stays low, steady. "It only makes it worse."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
Blood drips from his hand, staining the rail, but his grip remains iron-tight.
"Hook, you're bleeding. I can hold myself—"
"I've got this."
He presses closer, securing me more firmly against the railing. My breath catches at the contact.
Chaos erupts around us. The ground groans, stone grinding against stone. Then—
Everything stops.
The sudden stillness sends Hook crashing into my back, his body solid and warm against mine.
Neither of us moves. We wait, breath held, for the next attack.
A minute passes. Maybe two.
Finally, Hook releases me.
"We need to move. Quickly." His voice stays tight, low, breath still ghosting across my skin. "I don't think this is going to just let us be here."
"It's fighting against us." I exhale sharply, my hands stinging from the thorns. My body remembers his hold, the pressure of him against me.
"Yes." No hesitation. "Which means whatever's up there, the Queen doesn't want us to reach. Which is exactly why we should."
He returns to the vines, sword flashing as he cuts through them with precise, brutal strokes. But I stay still. Taking in our surroundings.
We're not on our previous path. This isn't the rocky stretch where we hid, nor the twisted route to the house.
We stand at the mouth of a forest.
Trees rise like black spires, their limbs twisted and gnarled, blocking out any hint of sky. No moonlight filters through the canopy. No stars peek between branches. Just darkness, endless and suffocating, stretching deeper than sight allows.
The air presses against us, thick and alive. No sound breaks the silence. No wind stirs the leaves. No creatures rustle in the shadows.
A forest should live. Should breathe. This one doesn't.
This one waits.
The trees lean inward, branches forming shapes that turn my stomach. The ground beneath gleams wet with something that reeks of rot and decay. And further in—just beyond where light reaches—something else lurks.
A sensation crawls across my skin.
Watching eyes in the dark.
I force myself forward, stepping beside Hook. "This doesn't feel like a forest."
He doesn't pause his assault on the vines, but tension coils through his shoulders. "That's because it isn't."
"Then what is it?"
He strikes through another vine before answering, the growth curling back from his blade like it knows to retreat.
The gate looms before us, massive and wrong. Black iron drinks in what little light reaches this cursed place. The bars twist into jagged spires, crafted without symmetry or grace—just brutal, snarling metal that screams warning.
Wicked spikes jut from the top, irregular and waiting.
Some curve inward like talons, others reach out to catch any fool brave enough to climb.
They glisten with something too thick to be water.
The metallic scent in the air isn't just rust—it's something older; something that makes bile rise in my throat.
Dark strands stretch between the bars like sinew, barely visible but enough to make my skin crawl. This isn't a normal gate. Not just metal and mechanisms—it pulses with life.
The path winds upward beyond it, steep and unforgiving. We can see our destination now. That should bring relief. It doesn't. Because this gate wasn't built just to keep things out.
Hook reaches around me, his chest pressing briefly against my back as he grabs the handle and pulls. Nothing gives. No shift of hidden locks. Just cold, dead metal.
"It's locked?"
He nods, already crouching to clear away debris—leaves and twigs trapped here for God knows how long. Then he stills, pressing his forehead against the thickest bar. His voice comes out low, resigned.
"It needs a damn key."
I trace the edges of the keyhole beneath his fingers. But it's wrong. Not a neat, machined slot waiting for its match. The shape tears jagged and uneven through the metal, more like something was ripped out than designed to fit.
My stomach knots. Does this place ever give us a bloody break?
I exhale slowly, mind racing for solutions. But before I can think, a sound freezes my blood. A low, rolling growl.
I go still.
So does Hook.
We turn together, eyes locking onto the darkness between the trees.
Eyes stare back.
Bright. Slitted. Yellow. Dozens of them.
Not one Bandersnatch.
A pack.