I will admit that Peter Pan has never been my favorite foe.
He is no ordinary man. And an extraordinary man is extremely hard to fight.
Which is why we planned for the Crocodile to do his thing.
Except he’s taking a bloody long time to devour.
Peter Pan advances on us.
“Any minute now,” I say to the Crocodile out the corner of my mouth.
“It doesn’t work like that, Captain. And I’m missing my watch. I don’t know how much time is left.”
I gape at him.
Pan gets closer, but he’s taking his fucking time, probably enjoying stalking us like prey.
“Well what do you suppose we do until then?” I bark.
“We could dance, Captain.” The Crocodile flashes his teeth at me.
“The bloody hell do you mean?”
Roc pulls a dagger and darts into Pan’s guard.
Pan spins, but when he comes back around, Roc lands a solid fist in his gut.
Peter Pan staggers back.
I pull out my sword with my right hand and hold out my hook on my other as several of my men create a circle around us on the beach.
Down on the other end, the sand is writhing like there are beasts living beneath and the twins are having a hard time staying on their feet.
They’re fighting their own battle with their sister and several of her fae guard.
One of my pirates jabs at Pan and Pan catches the blade with his bare hand. Within seconds, the blade is flying off into the moonlight, transformed into a hundred moths.
Peter Pan with his shadow is an even worse foe.
Two of my men charge him. One shoots with his pistol but the bullet hits Pan and plinks to the sand, leaving no wound. The other man swings with his sword, misses, and then Pan grabs him by the throat and squeezes.
The pirate turns bright red as he fights for air, his feet leaving the sand and pedaling uselessly at the air.
Beside me, the Crocodile doubles over.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
His spine juts out from his back as he hunches forward. I grab him by the shoulder to pull him upright and immediately regret it.
His eyes are glowing yellow and his incisors have elongated to sharp points.
The sharp slant of his nose, the rise of his cheekbones, his entire face blurs along the edges like he is a man with no features.
I blink several times as if it’s my eyesight that’s the problem.
He’s more ghost than man, with no defined silhouette. Nothing but sharp, snapping teeth and bright, glowing eyes.
He snarls at me and I stumble away.
Then he darts at Peter Pan and when the two connect, Pan goes sailing backward, flying over the lagoon and landing in the center.
Water splashes up around him and then he’s gone, disappearing beneath the surface.
Now it’s just me and the Crocodile, the Devourer of Men.
He turns on me.
“We’re on the same side, remember?” I tell him, but even I know that’s shaky at best.
He stalks toward me.
“Bloody hell, will you get a grip?”
Then a fae soldier rams into me from behind and the Crocodile leaps over me, grabs the fae, opens his mouth wider than seems possible, and devours the fae in one gulp.
There one minute, gone the next, with no evidence of him ever having been.
I’m suddenly numb.
I stare at the aftermath with wide, unseeing eyes.
Have I lost my bloody mind?
The Crocodile turns his head toward the twilight sky and lets out a satisfying sigh.
Then he turns to the rest of the beach and all of the men and women left to devour.
And he gets to work.
