33. Belle #2
It’s the wrong move. Pan grabs my jaw, forcing my gaze to his tomato-red face. “I've made a grave error. I should have known. Women are far more trouble than they're worth.” He squeezes hard, and I yelp.
“Enough,” Peter growls, his chest heavy, his fists clenched, and his eyes murderous below stray hairs.
Pan clicks his tongue. “Don’t tell me, you love her too?”
“Yes.” The end of Peter’s word is like a hiss from a snake. He’s said he loved me before, but this time is different. He’s risking everything to say this truth. My stupid, selfish heart sings.
Lord Pan laughs. “How adorable. Both of my boys, without their mothers. So eager for female attention that they would humiliate themselves by squabbling over the same pixie bitch.” His expression softens on Peter.
“We both know I only concocted this task to play at your weakness. I knew you wouldn’t let your brother ruin her, you’re too soft.
But this…this is much farther than I could ever imagine.
Surely her pussy can’t be as powerful as her blood to bring both of you to such destitution.
” He pauses, mulling over his words. “Perhaps I’ll have to see for myself. ” He runs a finger down my neck.
I hold back bile, mentally preparing for when I’ll strike.
“I’ll gut you like a pig!” Rourke screams, his muscles straining as he attempts to attack his father again, but of course, he can’t.
Pan croaks a humorous laugh. “Lunacy. That’s what this is: utter lunacy.
I knew you both had your faults, but this is despicable.
I did everything I could, decorated you both with scars and still, it’s not enough.
I blame your mothers. I should have killed them both sooner, used their blood to bind you to your Darling the moment I could. ”
“What?” Peter’s voice reveals the crack in his heart. His entire body is rigid with the startling truth.
I think back to the book from his childhood, his drunken words when he imagined his mother in my place, mourned over the thought that she killed herself, leaving him behind. The truth is much kinder, yet only intensifies the pain.
“Oh, Peter, you precious boy. I know how much you miss your mommy, but you know how Darlings work. Yours is far different than the ones binding your wet nurses to this manor. Much more powerful magic had to be used to chain you to me, and thank God I did, or you’d be lost in this world without my direction. ”
Peter’s knuckles crack, forming his fists.
“Direction? You have been nothing but a knife at my neck, whittling away any ounce of humanity I have left.” A sob lodged at the back of his throat comes loose.
“You took my mother from me. I’ve always wanted to kill you, but now you tell me you took away the one piece of my heart you weren’t able to taint, while threatening the new entirety of my soul in your slimy grasp.
I will end you, even if I must burn all of Neverhaven down in the process. ”
Pan laughs. “Stars, Peter. How dramatic? Save it for your journaling. I can see now that neither of you is fit to run a kingdom, to save our land.” He sighs.
“Well, you both got your wish. We won’t need to examine your dear pixie’s cunt, because it doesn’t matter which one of you sired her child.
I’m starting over, and if either of you didn’t impregnate her, I will.
I should have made this choice in the beginning, but it seems I still had some softness in me, wanting to see my boys amount to more than their flaws. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
He snaps and reaches over me to clasp the rose ring on his pointer finger, turning the metal aglow as he twists. “Both of you, fight to the death. Kill yourself when you’re finished.”
He can’t be serious. The magic doesn’t work like that. But clearly, I don’t know enough about Darlings, or it’s because the Pans’ Darlings are different, crafted from a more sacred type of blood. Both Rourke and Peter jump to their feet, racing toward each other, panic and violence in their eyes.
“No!” I shout.
Rourke swipes at Peter’s neck, barely missing his jugular as Peter dodges the attack.
Peter charges Rourke’s middle, knocking him to the ground, holding Rourke’s muscular arms down with his legs.
It’s clear to me now—the truth of my feelings.
I love them both equally and differently at the same time.
With each near-death blow, a piece of me chips away.
I won’t survive if either of them dies. I need them both as much as I need air.
“Please,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll give you an heir. I’ll give you whatever you want, just stop them.”
Lord Pan laughs. “That’s your bargain? You’ll give me that anyway, and I won’t have to worry about my pesky sons. Enjoy the show, dear Belle. Hopefully, this will teach you a lesson.”
His words needle into the veil of my sorrow.
Everything has happened so fast. I’d been too distracted to remember my freedom.
I don’t need to watch the two halves of my heart fight to the death.
I won’t bend to his will. Never again. I reach inside my corset, pulling out the hidden blade.
I throw my weight into my swipe, sinking the serrated metal into the heavy meat of Lord Pan’s chest.
His body tenses before it relaxes. He pushes me off him, his last bit of strength before the blood pours around the black hilt, out of the crater of my creation. The shocked expression on his face as he looks from me to the dagger in his chest is one I’ll never forget.
I rise to my feet as he sags, falling from his chair. Peter and Rourke grunt behind me, but their aggression seems to be slowing. I can’t look back to make sure they’re okay. I must watch as Pan dies. My smug smirk has to be the last thing he sees before he passes through the gates of hell.
He gasps, clutching his chest. I lean down to whisper in his ear. “I guess the pixie bitch now owns your boys and your crown.” I reach down and snatch the crown off his head, placing it on my own.
Pan takes his last breaths, and his eyes bulge from his skull, unblinking. I yank the dagger from his chest and secure it back into my corset, turning to assess the wreckage behind, their heavy breaths the only thing keeping me standing.
I race toward the bloody and beaten heaps, their fingertips touching as they lie on their sides, across from each other, their eyes swollen closed. I examine each of them, my chest loosening once I catch their uneven breaths.
Rourke falls to his back, and Peter doesn’t move. I crawl in between them, wedging their heads on top of my lap as I stroke their faces. Tears blur my vision, but I make out the growing welts covering their beautiful faces.
They’re alive, I tell myself over and over, as an attempt to still my trembling fingers.
I pull the dagger from my corset, slicing the tip of my finger.
Pain has never felt so good. I can hurt myself—a freedom I’d never imagined I’d miss.
I nick the other hand and draw bloody lines over their skin.
There are so many injuries—a gash at Peter's side, a chunk bitten out of Rourke’s forearm.
Neither of them addresses me, but they are breathing and not trying to kill each other.
Surely the spell is broken. Just to be sure, I grab Peter’s hand and pull off his ring.
It comes off with ease, now no longer a shackle, just a regular gaudy piece of jewelry.
I chuck it across the room. I don’t think he’ll mind.
I do the same to Rourke’s, feeling a million times lighter now that I know they’re free. The ounce of peace doesn’t last long. The dining room doors burst open, a Shadow yelling before he even assessed the carnage of the room. “Lord, the rebels, they're at the gates! We must…”
He sees Pan dead at the foot of his chair, sees me between Rourke and Peter with the crown on my head. He draws a sword to my chest. More Shadows trail in behind him. I raise my hands in surrender.
I’m fucked.
Peter’s voice cracks from the floor, louder than I’d expect. “Lord Pan is gone. There’s a new claim to the throne.” His eyes click to mine, the green clearer than I’ve ever seen before. “All hail Lady Belle.”