Chapter 18 The Savage King
Chapter Eighteen
The Savage King
Two large forms burst through the trees, tearing their way into the clearing.
Massive and wolf-like, but only in the vaguest sense.
Their bodies are made of shadow more than flesh, fur rippling like smoke across their bodies.
Their paws sink into the soil with talons as long as my palms. Pulsing red mist spills from their gaping maws, dragging over rows of serrated teeth.
Their eyes burn a blinding, feverish crimson.
When they turn those eyes on us, the world seems to narrow to points of blood-red light.
The clearing erupts.
The faeries’ shrill screams pierce the night, wings beating frantically as they scatter into the trees. A lantern crashes beside me, shattering on twisted roots, flame skittering across damp moss before sputtering out.
Finn grabs Tinker Bell’s hand and yanks her toward the darkness of the woods. She stumbles, wings shaking, eyes wide with disbelief. Thorne’s commanding roar cuts through the chaos.
“SHADOW BEASTS! RUN!”
He herds the faeries with furious, sweeping arm motions, directing them like soldiers in retreat. Branches snap overhead; leaves whirl around us as though the forest too is trembling in fear.
I stumble backward. My heartbeat crashes against my ribs so violently it hurts. The air feels thick, swamp-like, difficult to breathe. Every instinct screams run run run—but my feet are soaked in fear, rooted to the ground.
One of the beasts lifts its head. The other follows.
Two sets of burning crimson eyes lock on me.
They prowl forward with terrifying intention—shoulders rolling, jaws dripping red vapor, their bodies almost melting into the shadows they step through.
On the beasts’ bodies, writhing along their forms in blood-red, are runes.
Just like Peter’s, but twisted and far more grotesque, a mockery, dripping with malice instead of golden light.
A horrifying thought pierces me: I am going to die.
The world tilts. My hands tremble uncontrollably. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My vision blurs as the beasts close in, their weight shaking the ground with every step, the air vibrating with the rumble of their growls.
I open my mouth to scream—and Peter is suddenly there.
“I’ve got you,” he says, scooping me into his arms before my lungs remember how to work.
Peter lifts me high onto a gnarled branch overlooking the chaos. He sets me down gently, kissing my forehead with infuriating calm.
“Stay here, okay? I’ll handle it.”
“Wait—” My fingers fumble at his jacket. Panic claws up my throat. “Stay here with me. Peter, please—”
He gives me that infuriating, knowing grin—the one that always unravels me at the worst possible moments.
“Worried about me, are we, darling?”
“Of course I’m worried,” I rasp, horrified that he even asked.
He takes my hand, lifting it to his lips to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I promise I’ll be fine, Wendy.”
He sheds his jacket, setting it gently on my shoulders.
And then he’s gone, launching himself like a falling star toward his death.
He collides with the first beast in a burst of gold light.
It’s then that I notice the runes. They blaze across his chest, neck, and arms—alive, molten, pulsing as if in synch with his heart.
His hands latch onto its jaw, fingers sinking into the black, shifting flesh, and with a brutal twist, he breaks it. A gout of red mist erupts where bone should have been, and the creature howls, a sound half agony, half rage.
A clawed limb swings for him fast. He catches it mid-strike, tearing it free in a smooth, savage motion. Sinew unravels like torn fabric. The beast convulses, mist pouring from the wound, but Peter handles it with the same ease someone might toss aside a broken toy.
He doesn’t look human.
He looks like a savage god who’s forgotten the meaning of mercy.
The second beast lunges, jaws yawning wide, teeth dripping crimson.
Peter ducks, runes blazing brighter as though violence feeds them.
He twists, slamming the creature into the earth hard enough to send dirt flying in a shockwave.
He grabs its head—one hand on the upper jaw, one on the lower—and wrenches.
It splits with a sound like tearing sinew.
A black shadow drifts upward, swallowing the moonlight, and Peter stands inside it, golden runes cutting through the dark like molten stars.
The forest tremors with each of his movements, each strike precise, deadly, almost beautiful in its brutality. His grin spreads wide, feral, almost exultant.
My stomach drops and my skin prickles.
Something is not right here.
The shadow beasts. The runes. Peter himself.
The magic that thrums through the clearing feels familiar, yet corrupted.
I knew something in Neverland had shifted the moment we touched down on that sandy shoreline.
But now I can feel it more clearly—something dark hums beneath it all, and it’s inside me too, like a second heartbeat pounding beneath my skin. In my veins.
For a moment, it feels as if the island itself is calling to me. Whispering in my ear. Reaching out for me.
I quickly dismiss the thought, ignore the odd feeling. It’s ridiculous.
Below, one beast collapses, its body unraveling into threads of shadow. The other follows moments later, falling in pieces, corrupted runes writhing weakly before fading into ash.
Peter stands over them, panting, dripping in golden light.
He turns, eyes finding mine. And for one terrible heartbeat, I don’t recognize him at all.
Gone is the man and the monster. His pupils are blown wide with unmistakable euphoria, his grin sharp enough to cut, his chest heaving with the high of violence.
I tremble in fear. I have to force myself to breathe. To think.
It’s Peter Pan.
He would never hurt me like that… right?
Then his eyes shift, focusing in on me, as if seeing me for the first time. The lethal edge in his face eases, and his humanity slips through the cracks.
The faeries slowly emerge from behind trees and roots, their awe turning into cheers. They shout his name—Peter Pan! Peter Pan!—as though he hadn’t just torn monsters apart with his bare hands.
Tinker Bell shoots toward him, flinging herself into his arms. And suddenly, my fear gives way to something else—a wild anger, a flicker of bloodlust I don’t fully understand. Thankfully, Peter quickly disentangles himself from her and flies up toward me, golden light still pouring from his skin.
“See,” he whispers, eyes bright and fevered. “I told you I’d handle it.”
For a heartbeat, he looks like a boy again, showing off, eagerly waiting for praise with a shy spark in his eye. But the likeness is quickly swallowed, drowned by the reality of what he just did.
I nod—because words have abandoned me. And as I stare at him, trembling, I realize I don’t know what terrifies me more:
The shadow beasts…
Or Peter Pan.
* * *
We return to the treehouse in silence, the forest fading behind us. Peter strides ahead, blood still drying on his skin, golden runes dimming but not yet gone. They pulse faintly beneath the surface, humming with lingering magic.
I follow him up the stairs, my steps slower, heavier. The torn silk mask dangles from my hand, the last echo of the masquerade. My chest is tight, the night’s chaos still tangled in my limbs.
He keeps glancing back at me, smiling like he’s trying to reassure me.
Like he’s not a beast himself. I offer a shaky smile in return, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
My stomach is knotted tight. A thousand questions churn inside me, refusing to quiet or be dismissed.
They swirl and snap beneath the surface because they know they’ll remain unanswered tonight.
Inside our room, he hums to himself as he washes away the grime in a small basin of water.
I perch on the edge of the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. The sound of the water lapping against the bowl is too gentle for the man who just carved through a creature with his bare hands like it was nothing.
My eyes drift over the lean lines of his back, muscles flexing with each casual movement—highlighting the crimson streaks of blood.
The runes have faded to nothing, but I can still see them clearly, etched in gold across his skin like he held some sort of divinity. Just like the beasts. Except theirs were red, like festering wounds.
The resemblance is undeniable. There’s a connection here. I know there is.
But would he ever admit it? Explain it to me in any meaningful way?
Doubtful.
And a part of me is afraid to ask.
Because I’m terrified of the answer.
When he finally turns—blood washed away, stripped of his ruined clothes, with only snug black fabric clinging to his hips—he crosses to the bed and sinks down beside me.
“Peter,” I say, barely above a whisper, “the runes… I saw them on those beasts.”
He sighs and rakes a hand through his tangled hair. “Wendy. Not now.”
I search his face, frustration bubbling beneath my fear.
“Why won’t you tell me?” My voice shakes. “Why are you keeping this from me?”
His fingers tangle suddenly in my hair, tugging me closer. His mouth grazes mine—a distraction.
I pull back. “No,” I say, firmer now. “You can’t ignore me forever. Just tell me the truth.”
His hand drops, curling into a fist at his side.
“Why do you keep pushing?” he snaps. “Can’t you just be happy? You’re in Neverland. With me. And still, it’s not enough—I’m not enough.”
His words cut deep. Shame flares hot beneath my skin. For a moment, he isn’t this dangerous, half-mad man before me. He’s a boy again, gazing at me with wide, wounded eyes, shattered by the memory of me saying I wanted to go home.
I wanted to leave this magical place.
I wanted to grow up.
I blink, and the illusion vanishes. The boy is gone, and the man remains. But the betrayal still lingers in his stare.
Am I asking too much?
I stare into his eyes—those bright green eyes that once felt like home. And for the briefest flicker, I don’t recognize them.
Who is Peter Pan, really?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, afraid he’ll hear the resentment beneath it.
He pulls me into his lap, cradling me like I’m something fragile. I should resist. Push him away. But my body obeys an older instinct—one born not of logic, but survival.
The monster favors me. That alone makes me safe… right?
So I let myself be held.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You keep me sane, my Wendy Darling. So try to be happy here.”
His lips find mine again, and this time I let him kiss me. It's soft at first, almost tender, before turning hungry and desperate, like maybe I am the only tether keeping him sane. Maybe if I pull away now, he’ll unravel completely.
His touch is contradictory—rough and reverent, cruel and caring. I feel him everywhere, consuming me piece by piece, and something in me finally breaks open and welcomes his touch. Maybe if I give him this, he’ll love me. Maybe if I make myself into exactly what he needs, he won’t devour me whole.
Even now, with fear and resentment still clawing at my chest, I ache to be wanted by him. Needed by him.
I want to be his calm. His everything.
He claims me so completely, there’s no doubt who I belong to.
But how do I claim him in return?
I meet his every kiss, every touch, with equal fervor—moans tangled with his groans until the pleasure crests and crashes over us both.
We collapse afterward, breathless and sweat-slick, tangled in the sheets and each other.
He holds me close, one arm slung possessively around my waist, his breathing steady against the back of my neck.
And for one foolish, fleeting moment, I feel…
safe. Held by the scariest thing in Neverland.
Cradled like something precious. Surely nothing else can harm me here.
Only him.
“Peter,” I whisper into the dark. “I’m scared.”
I don’t elaborate, because how could I?
I’m scared of what you’ve become. Scared of everything you won’t say. Scared you’ll never love me, that you’ll leave me the way I once left you.
He presses a warm kiss to my shoulder. “Don’t be, little darling,” he murmurs. “You’re mine. I’ll always protect what’s mine.”
I try to believe him. I want to. I cling to his words like a lifeline, as if they can quiet the turmoil inside me.
But deep down, the questions coil like venomous snakes, cold and mean and unrelenting:
What happens when he doesn’t want me anymore? When I stop being enough to keep his madness at bay?
Will he protect me still? Or feed me to the monster he refuses to name?
The thought creeps in like frost, and though his body is warm against mine, I shiver.