I’m pulled from sleep by someone kicking my bed.
“This better be important.”
“The twins are throwing a party,” Vane says. “And the Darling is drunk.”
I lurch upright, a foreign emotion burning in my chest.
“The fuck.”
“I know. That’s what I said.”
“Why didn’t you stop them? Or her for that matter?”
“I’m not her babysitter.”
“Vane, for fuck’s sake.” I toss the sheet back as he flicks on the bedside lamp and the light immediately makes my vision burn. I stumble to the corner to fetch my clothes. I’m in a rush to get upstairs, but there is still sunlight in the air. I can feel it.
“How drunk is she?” I ask and pull on my pants.
I swear to god, if any of those assholes touches her—
Vane shrugs. “She was on the lap of one of the new Lost Boys when I came down.”
A growl rumbles in my chest.
Vane narrows his eyes, regarding me with distant apprehension.
He is seeing something that neither of us recognizes.
I toss on a shirt and go to the door, hand poised to yank it open as I count down the seconds to the last drop of light.
“Think about what you’re about to do,” Vane says lazily behind me.
“You should have been watching her.”
“Why do we care if she fucks a Lost Boy anyway?”
“I care.”
“Why?”
I bow my head and take in a breath. I don’t have a good fucking answer for that and the silence is telling.
Why do I care? The rule about not touching Darlings only pertains to myself and Kas and Bash and Vane. Because we are the only ones that matter. I don’t give a fuck what the other Lost Boys do.
So the question stands—why do I care?
I don’t know. I don’t know why.
Fucking a Darling has nothing to do with getting inside her head.
It’s the inherited memories I need. Not the pretty little Darling cunt.
“You’re being rash,” Vane says. “You do have a habit of being rash, but right now, I don’t understand it and I don’t like it.” He presses his back to the wall beside the door and picks at his nails. “Maybe pause for a second and consider the options—”
The sun sinks below the horizon and I yank the door open.
“All right. Violence it is.” He follows me up the stairs. I take them two at a time.
And the whole way up, his voice is a singing lilt behind me.
“Three, two, one. One, two, three. Better watch out: Peter Pan is going to murder thee.”
The doors that lead to the patio are thrown open and music filters in.
I go there and scan the crowd of Lost Boys, the freshness of the night still bright enough that the lanterns are just a hazy glow.
I spot the Darling across the patio straddling some red-haired boy.
Her chest is in his face and he’s gazing up at her, starry-eyed and hungry.
That knot returns to my chest.
I am blind with rage.
Some of the others see me and shrink away so that the crowd parts as I stalk through it.
The nameless Lost Boy sees me coming and he frowns.
Then he looks at the girl again and a dawning comes to his bloodshot eyes as horror washes over him.
“Oh, shit. Pan, I didn’t know—”
I yank the Darling away and toss her into Vane’s arms.
“Hey!” she yells.
I barely have magic, but I do have power.
So when I grab the back of the boy’s chair and punch at his chest, I go straight through bone, claw my fingers around his heart and tear it out.
Blood sprays, painting the night in spots of crimson.
When it splatters across my face, I finally exhale, and the urgency ebbs away.
The party is silent as the blood patters to the stone.
The boy slumps over in the chair, eyes wide and dead.
When I turn back to the Darling, a heart in my hand, her eyes are full of tears.
Good.
She needs to know…there are no white knights here.
Just monsters.
And I am the worst one.
