Chapter 13 #2
The room grows still again. The only sounds are the clink of cutlery, the crackle of the fire, and the steady drum of my heartbeat in my ears. Peter doesn’t release my hand. His thumb moves in slow circles against my skin, an absentminded, possessive motion that unravels every defense I have left.
As we finish eating and Thorne begins to clear the plates, I start to rise and help, but Peter’s hand tightens around mine.
“Tell us a story, Wendy,” he says, a faint smile playing at his lips.
I blink, taken aback. “But your wounds,” I protest, brows knitting. “They need to be cleaned.”
“They can wait,” he replies.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Finn and Thorne exchanging a look.
“I’d like to hear one of your tales,” Finn adds, his voice warm, almost eager.
Thorne nods in agreement, arms full of plates.
I sigh, relenting. “Alright. But after I tend to you.”
Outside, the air is cool and sweet. The night hums around us, with the soft chirp of insects and the distant rustle of the forest. I fill a basin at the small well beside the treehouse and kneel beside him.
Peter sits on the edge of the stone side, sleeves rolled up, watching me with unreadable calm.
He’s oddly still as I dip the cloth into the water and press it to the claw marks along his forearm. The blood has already begun to dry, a rusty red against the pale gold of his skin. He doesn’t flinch, not once, even when I know it must sting.
The intimacy of it unsettles me. The calm. The nearness. The way the moonlight glances off his copper hair, turning it almost silver.
“I hate seeing you bleed,” I murmur, dabbing at another mark. My throat tightens.
Surprise flickers across his face, maybe guilt, but it’s gone before I can be sure.
He reaches out, gentle fingers sliding beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Really.”
His voice is soft, the nickname curling through the space between us, wrapping around the parts of me still trying to resist his charm.
I manage a wobbly smile, blinking back tears I hadn’t realized had gathered. “I wish you’d let me in,” I whisper.
Peter’s thumb brushes my lower lip, tracing the tremor there. “I know,” is all he says.
When I finish, Peter takes my hand in his and leads me back into the house.
Thorne and Finn sit by the hearth, their hushed voices little more than murmurs against the low crackle of the fire.
Peter guides me to one of the armchairs.
I sink into the worn, comfortable seat, the fabric soft against my legs.
He takes the chair beside mine. The arrangement feels oddly familiar—a ghost of the “Mother” and “Father” parts we used to play at long ago. The thought sends a flush to my cheeks.
Peter notices, of course. He always does. His mouth curves in that knowing, private smirk that makes my heart stumble.
I tear my gaze away and look to my audience—two grown Lost Boys watching me from the sofa, their faces open and expectant, their eyes reflecting the firelight like glass.
I run through my repertoire of fairy tales, and given how my first few days in Neverland have gone, there’s really only one story that feels right.
I draw a breath, the warmth of the fire licking at my skin.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a girl who lived in a quiet village where nothing ever changed. She dreamt of adventure, of something wild and glittering and new. So when a monster whispered to her from the edge of the woods, she went.”
The flames pop and shift, shadows flickering over their faces.
“She followed his voice into the forest, where the trees grew so thick they swallowed the light. The roots tangled around her feet, and the shadows whispered her fears back to her. The villagers had warned her not to go, that he would devour her whole, but when she found him, she didn’t see a beast at all.
She saw a man—beautiful and terrible in the same breath. ”
My eyes flick toward Peter. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the weight of his attention.
“She wanted to understand him,” I continue quietly. “To see what lay beneath his teeth and claws. But the closer she drew, the more he pulled away. He told her the forest was his cage and his crown both—that if she stayed too long, it would claim her too.”
The words ache as I speak them, though I keep my tone steady.
“But the girl couldn’t leave. Every time she tried, he caught her by the wrist and reminded her how empty her life had been before him.
How she’d spent her days dreaming of adventure—and now she’d found it.
The dark woods. The danger. Him. Everything she’d ever wished for, wrapped in thorns. ”
Finn’s brow furrows; Thorne shifts uneasily in his seat. The fire snaps, sparks leaping into the air.
“The monster told her they belonged together,” I whisper, “but what he really meant was that he couldn’t bear to be alone.
And the girl convinced herself that was love—that love and fear could share the same body.
But one night, she looked at him and saw the truth.
He wasn’t her salvation. He was her ruin.
And still—” my voice catches “—she stayed. Because even knowing the story would end in tragedy, she couldn’t stop loving the monster. ”
Silence folds over the room, heavy and fragile. The flames pop softly, echoing the quick, uneven rhythm of my heart.
Finn clears his throat, as if trying to dispel the weight of it. “That’s… a sad story.”
Thorne mutters something under his breath, but I don’t catch it.
Peter leans forward in his chair, green eyes shadowed, unreadable. For a long moment, he says nothing, merely watching me with a stone-cold expression.
“That’s enough stories for tonight,” he murmurs at last.
Then he leans back, gaze distant, as though turning over the ending I hadn’t dared speak aloud.