Chapter 23 A Suffocating Rage
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Suffocating Rage
My knife slides easily through the soft skins of the potatoes, the rhythmic sound calming my frayed mind.
Beside me, Thorne chops vegetables with effortless precision.
Behind us, Finn hums as he rubs seasoning onto a rabbit, his cheeks smudged with flour from an earlier mishap.
The kitchen glows with the amber light of early evening, sunbeams spilling through every window and painting the wooden walls gold.
Peter disappeared after the hot spring without a word—in typical Peter fashion—leaving me alone with my wayward thoughts.
At least here, surrounded by warmth, the familiar scent of herbs, and the gentle chaos of the boys’ domestic rituals, I feel… steady. Present. Like I belong, and this found family has room for me even when Peter vanishes into whatever dark place he crawls into.
As we work and chat, I can’t help but notice how stiffly Thorne stands beside me. He keeps glancing over—subtle at first, then unmistakable. Every time I catch him, he jerks his gaze away like he’s been burned.
I bump his shoulder. “What’s up, Thorne?”
His knife pauses on an onion. He lets out a short, awkward laugh. “Nothing. I just hate chopping onions.”
“We could trade.” I hold up a potato with grave solemnity.
“No, no, it’s fine,” he says quickly. “I don’t want to see you cry.”
The way he says it, so serious and heavy, prickles at me. I frown but let it go.
We fall back into our tasks: knives scraping on wood, Finn’s humming, the soft bubbling of water on the stove. But Thorne grows even more distracted, his rhythm breaking—
“Shit!” he hisses, dropping his knife with a clatter.
I whirl around just in time to see him pop his finger into his mouth, blood welling from the tip.
“Thorne, seriously?” I scold, already reaching for a clean towel.
He takes it with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Wendy.” His voice is rougher, vulnerable in a way he rarely shows.
I blink, confused. “For cutting your own finger?”
He swallows, eyes darting away. Shame shadows the hard lines of his face. “I—” He drags a hand through his cropped blond hair, exhaling shakily. “Wendy, I’m the one who saw you at the beach. With Hook.”
My heart stutters.
His eyes flick to my wrists, the marks still faint beneath the skin. His jaw tightens. “I should’ve thought before running to Peter. I know you’d never betray him. I know how he gets, and still… still I told him.”
Thorne bows his head, shoulders sagging under the weight of his guilt. “I was trying to protect him. But I ended up hurting you instead.”
A hush settles over the kitchen. Even Finn’s humming quiets.
So that’s how Peter found out.
I rub my wrists, the phantom ache of my punishment still lingering. A punishment that had ended in an orgasm that unraveled me from the inside out. That left me weak and utterly undone in his arms.
It’s hard to blame Thorne. The Lost Boys are loyal to a fault. Peter isn’t just their leader—he’s their anchor to Neverland.
“You were being loyal,” I murmur. “I get it. Don’t worry about it…” Heat rushes up my neck. “Peter didn’t hurt me… at least not in the way you think.”
Thorne’s eyes widen, horror blooming. “Wendy—”
Before he can spiral further, Finn tosses the chopped vegetables into the pot of simmering water with dramatic flair.
“Yeah, don’t feel too bad, Thorne,” he says, cheerfully oblivious to tension. “Sound carries really well down the tree, Wendy.”
His blue eyes sparkle with wicked mirth.
I groan and drop my face into my hands. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Finn says brightly. “Every floor.”
“Finn,” Thorne hisses, mortified.
“What?” Finn beams at me. “It’s kind of flattering, right? Knowing you two shook the place? Literally?”
I look between them—Thorne red and miserable, Finn grinning like a menace—and despite everything, warmth blooms in my chest.
I groan, turning to grab a knife to start chopping the herbs, but as I pivot, my foot catches on Finn’s. I stumble with a startled yelp, colliding into him. Thorne’s hands close around my waist from behind, steadying me before I fall.
For a moment, all three of us freeze—my palms splayed against Finn’s chest, Thorne’s fingers warm at my hips, Finn blinking down at me in surprise.
Then laughter erupts.
Real laughter—unguarded, bright, flooding in like sunlight after weeks of rain. It quiets the raw edges of my nerves, that fragile sense of being woven into something warm and familiar. A moment I want to tuck away. One I wish could last.
It doesn’t.
Finn stiffens beneath my hands. His laughter dies mid-breath. Thorne lets go of me too quickly, stepping back as though scorched.
The shift in the air is immediate, almost suffocating.
I turn, only to meet Peter’s gaze from across the room. His eyes are nearly black. Twin voids, swallowing every glint of green.
Warmth drains from my veins in a cold rush.
“How quaint,” Peter says, voice dripping with mockery. “I warned you two, didn’t I?”
He steps into the kitchen, and the air bends around him, pressure tightening. The amber light seems to shrink away from him, retreating up the walls.
Tinker Bell slips in behind him, her glare sharp as glass, fixed first on Finn… then on me.
“Peter, it’s not what it looks like,” Thorne says quickly, voice tight.
The kitchen hums. A low, eerie vibration rises beneath the floorboards, threading up through my feet like something alive.
Peter’s smile splits into something feral. “Oh yeah? So I didn’t see your hands all over her?” he snarls, voice jagged with anger.
“Peter—” I try, stepping forward, but he cuts me off before I even finish the breath.
“I don’t want to hear it, Wendy.”
He stalks toward me. Every stride radiates a fury so dense it warps the air, thickens it, suffocates it. I stumble backward into Finn’s chest, unease coiling low and tight in my gut.
Thorne steps in front of me. For a heartbeat, the room goes utterly silent.
Then red runes flare across the walls, the floor, Peter’s skin—pulsing, alive with his rage. Finn, Thorne, and Tinker Bell don’t even react, confirming my suspicions. Only Peter and I can see them.
“You’re going to protect her from me, Thorne?” Peter asks. His voice is low, lethal. It’s not a question. It’s a death sentence.
“Thorne, move,” I whisper, panic clawing up my throat. “He won’t hurt me.” But even I don’t know if I believe that anymore.
Peter lunges. He grabs Thorne by the shirt and slams him into the wall with enough force to crack the wood behind him. Dust rains down. The entire treehouse shudders. And Neverland erupts.
Vines burst through the windows, snapping and thrashing, tearing through the air like living whips. The walls groan. The floor trembles. The glowing runes pulse faster, brighter, bleeding red light across the room.
Finn shouts, horrified.
“Peter, stop!” I scream, rushing forward, grabbing his arm where it pins Thorne’s throat.
He turns toward me. His eyes black as a starless sky.
No reason lives there. No mercy.
This isn’t Peter Pan.
This isn’t even the monster I know.
This is something else. Something that wears Peter’s skin when the madness corrodes too deep.
“You want to betray me, darling?” His voice is deceptively soft, venomous. “Then I’ll show you the consequences.”
Finn crashes into him from behind, locking his arms around Peter’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull him away.
Peter roars an unearthly sound and whirls on him.
The runes on his skin burn in a haze of red mist, seething, spilling like smoke from a burning inferno. His rage shreds through the room, but it’s not just his anymore—I feel another presence beneath it.
The ground trembles under my feet. A piercing ring erupts in my ears, sharp enough to make me clutch my head. It vibrates through skin, through bone, through the center of my chest.
Neverland.
It’s in pain. It’s screaming. Crying out through me, into me—like my soul is its tether, like its agony is begging me to fix what’s breaking.
I choke on a breath, staggering forward as vines lash the air and the world shudders around us.
Peter’s fury burns hot. But Neverland’s anguish burns hotter. And they are both calling to me.
Peter lifts Finn off the ground by his shirt like he weighs nothing.
“Peter—” I cry out, ignoring the ringing in my ears, horror freezing my limbs.
Before he can throw Finn, a shrill voice slices through the chaos.
“Put him down, Peter,” Tinker Bell snaps. Her voice catches me off guard. It’s commanding, nothing like I’ve ever heard from her.
She hovers between us in a blur of wings, her glow flickering erratically, her face ashen.
“Thorne,” she says without looking away from Peter. “Grab the medicine. Now.”
My gaze jerks to Thorne, panic rising so violently it claws up my throat. Medicine. What medicine?
Thorne vanishes up the stairs, and all I can do is stare, numb, my mind spiraling. This was something they recognized. Something they were prepared for.
“I’ll slit both of your fucking throats,” Peter snarls, shoving Finn against the counter. His voice is unhinged, guttural, scraped raw from places no human sound comes from. “And then I’ll fuck her in your blood.” His eyes flick to me—wild, starving. “Mine.”
The entire treehouse groans, beams trembling under the weight of his rage. Red runes blaze so bright they sear afterimages into my vision.
“Peter—please—” I sob. But he doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t see anything anymore.
Thorne rushes back in, a small glass vial filled with bright blue liquid clutched in his shaking hand. He gives it to Tinker Bell, and the glance they exchange brims with fear, resignation, and guilt.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” she whispers.
Then she shoots forward, wings a furious blur. She lands on his shoulder, legs locking around his neck, and seizes his jaw, forcing it open.
“N-no, what are you doing?” I scream, hurtling toward them just as she tilts the vial and pours its contents down Peter’s throat.
Peter thrashes, choking, coughing.
“What did you give him?” I shout, voice cracking. “What did you do to him?”
No one answers.
No one even looks at me.
Instead, they ease Peter’s body to the floor as his limbs weaken, his strength bleeding out of him. His chest heaves once, twice, then slows, each breath softer than the last. His lids droop, lashes brushing his cheeks as he slurs my name again and again, barely conscious.
Tears spill hot over my cheeks as I sink to my knees beside him. Panic gives way to something worse—a pain so deep it hollows me out from the inside.
The runes blink out.
Neverland falls silent.
The room is a wreck—chairs overturned, cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, vines curling weakly along the floorboards, dying without his fury to sustain them. Shards of glass glitter across the ground like frost.
I kneel beside him, trembling so violently my teeth chatter. His copper curls cling damp to his forehead, skin cold and too pale. His chest rises in shallow, ragged breaths.
My hand shakes as I stroke his hair back. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He doesn’t feel me.
“Tinker Bell?” I whisper, voice splintering. “Finn?” My gaze snaps to Thorne. “Please—please tell me what’s wrong with him.”
My plea meets nothing but sealed lips.
“Is he sick?” My voice breaks on the last word. I bend down and press a kiss to Peter’s temple, my lips trembling so badly it barely lands. “Please. Please.”
Nothing.
Tinker Bell hovers near the ceiling, glow flickering like a dying candle, eyes glued to Peter as though she’s terrified to even blink.
Finn stands stiffly by the counter, jaw clenched, arms crossed tight over his chest, gaze pointedly averted.
Thorne’s face is carved from stone—guilt, fear, and something darker twisting beneath his stillness.
And suddenly I understand.
They know.
They all know.
And still… no one will let me in.
Tears slip down my cheeks, warm against my chilled skin. I lower my forehead to Peter’s chest, listening for the fragile thump of his heart, praying it doesn’t stop. My breath catches on a sob.
“He keeps saying I belong to him,” I whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “That Neverland is my home. But he won’t let me in. And none of you will tell me what’s wrong with him.”
The silence that follows is unbearable.
Sharper than rage.
Heavier than pity.
Colder than fear.
The silence of betrayal.
I curl closer to Peter, helpless and trembling, my tears sinking into his skin. I love him. And I don’t know how to save him—don’t even know what monster or curse I’m meant to slay for him.