Chapter 17 A Waltz of Shadows and Stars #2
Peter smiles but shakes her off, gentle yet firm. “Not tonight, Tink.”
Her wings still mid-beat. For a heartbeat, she hovers, watching him as if waiting for him to change his mind. And for a flicker, so quick I almost miss it, hurt crosses her face. Then she huffs and spins away in a burst of silver.
Peter turns to me and offers his hand, and the heat in his gaze sears through me, leaving thought and breath tangled in my throat. I know I should try to resist his obvious claim on me. I should protect whatever is left of my pride. Demand answers from him.
But I take his hand.
Of course I do.
The way he looks at me—dark eyes gleaming beneath his mask, like I’m something rare, precious, his to consume—makes my skin flush with heat. He pulls me close, his chest pressed to mine.
“You look ravishing tonight, Wendy,” he murmurs. “No mere words can do you justice.”
My heart pounds so hard it almost hurts.
He speaks sweet, charming words one moment, and then whispers the most disturbing things I’ve ever heard the next.
He spins this dark web over me, intoxicating my mind while he binds my body tighter and tighter.
And yet, I ache for him. I ache like a wound that never truly closed, torn between wanting to melt into him and wanting to run from the power he holds over me.
Peter guides me through the swirl of dancers, slipping into a waltz like it’s second nature.
His hands are sure on my waist, fingers grazing the skin of my back through the sheer fabric.
Each touch only heightens the intimacy. I can feel the heat of him through the thin layers between us, the steady rhythm of his heart syncing with mine.
“Do you remember the last time we danced?” he murmurs, his voice brushing my temple.
A soft smile tugs at my lips as the memory stirs.
How could I forget? He had taken me in his arms then, too—though we were both smaller, younger, then.
The forest had shimmered that night, too, lit with something eternal.
He twirled me slowly, lifting me higher and higher, until it felt like we were floating among the stars.
I had fallen in love with Peter Pan that night.
“It’s one of my fondest memories,” I whisper.
The music winds around us, strange and haunting, tugging at something raw inside me.
The part of me that longs for the boy who once twirled me beneath the stars, who made me believe in magic and softness and love.
Each turn, each lift, each subtle shift of weight sends a thrill through me.
I feel dizzy with closeness, the world narrowing to the sound of our steps and the thrum of his body pressed to mine.
He nuzzles his face into my neck, inhaling deeply. “Do you know how good you smell?” he says, voice strained. “I can only imagine how sweet you taste.”
His tongue grazes the curve of my throat.
I shudder, clutching his arms. “Peter—” I whisper, glancing around.
“Relax,” he purrs, mouth brushing my ear. “I could fuck you right here, and the faeries wouldn’t blink an eye.”
The vivid image flashes through my mind—his hands on me, mouths colliding, bodies tangled in moonlight as faeries danced around us, uncaring. My thighs clench.
“You like the idea, don’t you?” he asks.
I shake my head, a feeble protest that fools no one. The thought is already rooted, impossible to forget.
Peter only laughs, low and satisfied, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He grips me tighter, and suddenly our feet leave the ground. I gasp, clinging to him as he lifts us higher, rising through the golden haze of blossoms and lanternlight to join the faeries swirling in the sky.
It’s beautiful up here—otherworldly. The air feels thinner, sweeter. Enchantment pulses through it like a heartbeat. I melt into him, resting my head on his shoulder as he spins us through the night, his arm wrapped securely around my waist.
And it’s in moments like these, when I’m weightless, relaxed, and utterly consumed, that he reminds me how much I love him. And I wonder, foolishly, if he loves me too. Or if what he feels is only lust and possession.
When we touch down again, he leans in to whisper in my ear. “Wait here. I’ll get you something to drink.”
I nod, only now realizing how dizzy I feel.
Peter disappears into the crowd. My gaze drifts across the scene, catching on Tinker Bell dancing with Finn.
He watches her like she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered, his eyes alight, his smile soft with something dangerously close to hope.
She doesn’t smile often, but now, she does.
Just barely. A flicker of warmth that vanishes almost as soon as it appears.
And yet, even as she offers him that fragile scrap of attention, her eyes stray—toward Peter.
Always Peter.
At the edge of the clearing, Thorne stands apart from it all. He doesn’t dance or mingle, just watches. A goblet dangles from his fingers, mostly forgotten. His expression is unreadable, probably lost in some private thought. Maybe in his mind, he’s back at sea. Maybe he’s with Hook.
Wherever he is, it isn’t here.
I start scanning the swirl of dancers for Peter again, aching for the weight of him beside me, when a sound tears through the night.
A screech.
No—worse.
A guttural, bone-splintering growl that doesn’t belong in this world.
It rips through the music, cleaving through laughter, slicing straight through the enchantment that hangs over the village. The air itself recoils.
My pulse spikes. My breath catches. I go still. Frozen in place, clutching the folds of my gown, primal terror courses through me.