Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
To Want the Monster
Itear through the forest. It’s a scene straight out of my dreams—no, my nightmares. Perhaps both.
The trees rise tall and gnarled, their bark blackened, their branches crooked like fingers reaching for me.
Glowing mushrooms scatter the forest floor, casting an eerie blue light across moss and stone.
The air smells of wet earth and something slightly metallic.
Vines curl and twist like serpents, brushing against my calves, tangling around my ankles as though the forest itself wants to drag me down.
Above, the moon hangs full and silver—always full in Neverland. A pale, unblinking eye. Its light spills through the canopy in sharp, splintered beams that cut across my skin.
My lungs burn. My breath comes ragged and thin. My dress clings to my damp skin, and every inhale scrapes my throat raw. Still, I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Because I feel him.
Not just behind me—but everywhere.
The air hums with him. The shadows breathe him. He’s in the whisper of the leaves, in the trembling of the ground, in the thrum of arousal between my thighs.
“You’d better run faster, darling.”
His voice slithers out of the dark, smooth and mocking. I can’t tell where it comes from—behind me, beside me, inside me.
I stumble, but force my legs to keep moving, pounding over the earth, dodging low branches that claw at my skin.
The forest feels alive, almost angry. Its roots rise to trip me, its vines tug harder, its path winding in impossible circles.
The air thickens, turning syrupy and strange, like Neverland doesn’t want to let me escape.
Still, I run.
Even as fear chokes me.
Even as my body screams for rest.
Even as a part of me begs to be caught.
That’s the cruelest truth of all. Beneath the terror, the desperate, gasping dread that he’ll catch me, something hotter coils deep inside me. My heart hammers not just with fear, but anticipation. Shame curls through me, molten and insidious. I shouldn’t want this.
But some shameful part of me does.
Some broken, starving part of me needs him to catch me, drag me down, press me into the dirt, and take me without mercy.
To prove I can’t escape him. That I never could.
That every defense I’d built since leaving him had been made of paper.
Because maybe if he owns me completely, I can pretend that it means something.
That this darkness in him has warmth. That Peter Pan loves me, too.
My legs threaten to give out. A low branch snags in my hair and yanks, hard, tearing strands free. I cry out, the pain shattering my rhythm, sending me stumbling.
A low, maniacal laugh cuts through the trees to my left. I spin and bolt the other way, panic surging like wildfire through my veins.
“I can taste your fear, sweetheart.” His voice purrs through the darkness, too close. “And it’s sweeter than any nectar I’ve ever had on my tongue.”
I whirl, searching for him. There’s nothing, only the shimmer of fungi, the rustle of unseen wings, the echo of my own harsh breathing. My body shakes with exhaustion, slick with sweat. My vision blurs. My legs falter.
“Gotcha.”
His voice is right at my ear. I scream as he slams into me from behind.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, my back colliding with something solid—not the ground, but Peter’s chest. Before I can recover, he spins me, a blur of motion and strength, forcing me onto my back and caging me beneath him in one swift, brutal movement.
His knees pin my legs. One hand gathers both of mine and slams them above my head, his grip unyielding, his body a wall of heat and restraint pressing me into the soft moss.
I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.
Moonlight pours through the canopy, silvering his skin. His eyes gleam, green drowned in black—pupils blown wide, feral with hunger and the need to devour.
“I could’ve let you keep running,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek.
“Let you scream until your body gave out. Until you collapsed—pathetic and gasping and mine.” His tongue licks a slow, possessive line up my cheek.
He groans low in his throat, as if the taste of my fear drives him wild.
I whimper, squirming beneath him, tears pricking my eyes.
“That’s it. Struggle. Try to get away.” He ruts his hips against mine, and I can feel the hard press of his cock through his pants. “You only make me harder when you fight.”
A sob rips through me, tangled with rage and want until I can’t tell one from the other. I thrash beneath him, helpless against his weight, my voice breaking. “How could you?” I choke out. “How could you touch her?”
His expression shifts—first surprise, then cruel amusement.
Peter laughs. The sound is sharp yet hollow, splitting through the air. “Touch who?” he mocks, eyes glinting with malice. “Tink? What gave you that idea?”
“The hot springs,” I say, my voice trembling. “She said you… she said—”
He tilts his head, clicking his tongue in mock pity. “Wendy, come now. You can’t believe everything that venomous little faerie says.” His smile spreads, teeth flashing like a warning. “She was only toying with you.”
He lowers his head until his breath grazes my ear, his tone dipping into something darker—rough, possessive, almost tender in its cruelty. “And besides…” His nose skims the edge of my jaw. “I like seeing you jealous.”
Rage flares hot in my chest. I thrash harder against his grip, but Peter only groans, grinding the thick press of his cock against me. His lips drag along my neck like my struggle means nothing. I buck my hips, desperate to dislodge him, but he doesn't budge.
“Get off me!” I scream, the words raw and breaking against his face. Tears spill hot down my cheeks, tasting of salt and fury. “I hate you.”
For a heartbeat, something flickers behind his eyes—hurt, maybe—but it’s gone before I can name it. His gaze hardens, pupils blown wide until the green nearly disappears. What’s left is something dark and predatory.
He rocks into me again, his cock rubbing right against my clit, and I moan, humiliation crashing over me like a wave.
“Oh yeah?” he sneers.
His free hand grabs my face, fingers digging into my cheeks hard enough to bruise. I whimper, trapped in his hold.
“You think you hate me?” he growls, voice a rasp. “I’m going to fuck you right here, Wendy, until you remember who owns the soft flesh of your body… the rapid beat of your heart…” He leans in, so close I can taste the mint on his breath. “Even the light of your soul.”
His grip eases, just enough for me to speak.
“Fuck you,” I spit.
A sick, twisted grin spreads across his face. “That’s the spirit.”
His hand slides down my side. When he reaches the hem of my dress, he pushes it up without ceremony. A thick finger swipes over the damp fabric of my panties, and he groans.
“You’re fucking drenched, little darling.”
Hot shame floods me, burning through what little pride I have left.
I turn my face away, tears slipping free and falling unchecked.
I hate him, just as much as I love him. My body betrays me—every breath, every trembling nerve reaching for the very thing I should despise. It aches for his touch, cruel as it is.
His fingers hook in my panties, and with one sharp tug, he tears them clean off. I gasp, eyes snapping to his. They’re pitch black, devoured by desire, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once.
Around us, the earth shifts. A deep, low hum rolls through the soil, like the pulse of some ancient heart. Faint lines begin to glow beneath the moss—symbols, maybe? Runes? They flicker gold in a wide circle, seeping up through the ground like the earth is bleeding light.
I freeze. “What—what is this?”
The runes pulse faster, their glow syncing with the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. Vines slither up from the forest floor like awakened serpents, leaves whispering against skin.
“Peter,” I breathe, my voice shaking.
The light ripples across his face, gilding his cheekbones, turning his eyes to molten emerald. For the first time, I feel something close to fear of the island itself. Neverland is alive.
He releases my wrists. I barely have a heartbeat to react before the vines surge forward, twining around my arms, warm and slick with sap. They pull tight, pinning me against the earth, my hands straining uselessly above my head.
“Peter!”
He doesn’t move to stop them. He only kneels back on his heels, that predatory gaze fixed on me. The runes reflect in his eyes, burning gold.
The vines creep lower, curling around my thighs, my ankles, forcing my legs apart until I’m completely at their mercy—his mercy. My breath catches on a trembling exhale.
“Peter… how?” I manage. My voice is a whisper. “How is this happening?”
He tilts his head, a slow, feral smile ghosting across his lips. The runes flare brighter in answer.
He reaches for the thin cotton of my dress and rips it up the middle with a brutal tear, pulling it from my body as if it were nothing more than paper. I cry out when the fabric snaps my skin, but he’s already on to the next—gripping my bralette and tearing it down the middle with the same force.
I’m laid out before him like an offering, trembling in the golden glow, while Neverland itself binds me in devotion to its king.
His eyes gleam as he takes me in. “Wendy,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. “Look at you.”
He cups one breast, fondling it with his calloused hands, fingers pinching at my nipple until pain and pleasure spark down my spine. I cry out, hips bucking, unsure if I want to get away—or beg for more.
He groans, gaze dropping as he unbuttons his trousers. When he draws out his cock—thick and flushed, already dripping—I gulp, desire hitting me like a wave. I remember how he felt inside me last night. How he filled me so deeply, I forgot my own name.