Stars (Wendy Darling #1)(80)

Peter pulled back, flushed and annoyed. “What? What is wrong with you?”

Wendy pushed herself back from him and stood. “I’m sorry, Peter, no. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Wendy backed away from him. “I should have never let it get this far. I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t mean to lead you astray.”

Peter’s face seemed to change from disappointment to anger. His eyes clouded over with navy, but when he blinked, they were green again. The green she had adored so much, before . . . before the word came. Booth. Wendy needed to be alone. Her stomach was churning, and her mind was breaking apart. She would be mortified if she got sick in front of him. Peter’s face began to crumple, much to Wendy’s horror.

“But, Wendy! Why?”

She picked up her shoe that had slipped off during their kiss. “Peter, please take me back. I’m not feeling very well.”

He angrily slammed his foot against the glass floor of the lantern, which gave an unhappy shudder, and his voice rose to a desperate shout. “But I love you! I love you, Wendy.”

Wendy looked down, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry, Peter. I can’t explain it. I just can’t be with you—not like that. Perhaps for now we can just be . . . friends.” She could see immediately that it was not the right thing to say.

“A friend?” Peter repeated with a dead voice. “A friend. I see. Not because I have plenty of friends already.” He turned away from her, his shoulders shaking in anger as he buttoned the top button of his shirt.

“Peter, please. I can’t explain it.”

He whirled on her. “YOU’RE MINE, AND SO YOU NEED TO TRY!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Then he was silent again, but Wendy had stepped back, terrified. “I’m sorry. That was . . . not right to yell at you like that. I’ll take you back.”

As if there had been an unspoken agreement under the depths of the sea, the starfish below them all gave a shudder and then went dark. The lantern swayed in the wind. Wendy’s pulse quickened, and she suddenly felt very afraid, unsure of why her mind was telling her to flee. Her eyes couldn’t adjust to the lack of light, and Peter’s voice was steady and firm in the darkness, just over her shoulder, closer than he should be, his hand tracing over her hip.

“At least tell me why, Wendy Darling. Why can’t you love me?”

Wendy reached out for him, to comfort him, but her hand only swept darkness. “I think there might be someone else. I can’t explain it, but I know it. My heart knows it. My love is spoken for. I didn’t . . .” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t remember before. I don’t really remember now, but I . . . I need to figure things out before anything else happens. Can you understand?” Her breath was calming now; all she felt was the desperate need to be alone. “I just need some time.” Her eyes searched for Peter in the dark, feeling the enchantment of him return. She shook her head. No. Booth.

Peter turned away from her and wiped his eyes. When he turned back, his voice was cool and collected. “Whatever you desire, Wendy Darling. I can give you time.” Without feeling, he grabbed her hand, and they flew up and out of the lantern. As she looked back, she saw a flutter of white wings enter the lantern from above and heard an anguished cry rise up from inside. She turned to Peter with a horrified gasp.

“Is that where Tink lives? We were in Tink’s house?”

Peter gave an angry shrug. “So? Tink doesn’t own Pan Island.”

The rest of the flight back to her hut was spent in awkward silence. She could feel an angry heat blazing through Peter’s hand. He deposited her roughly inside her doorway and turned to go. With his back to her, he spoke slow, careful words: “I’ll wait for you, Wendy Darling. I can be patient for your heart. I can be. I will be.”

Wendy dropped her eyes to the floor and gently placed her hand on his back. His body shuddered at her touch. “Peter. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

He turned around, his eyes clouding darkest navy. “Say that you will love me. Say it. Say that you’re mine.”

Wendy shook her head. “I can’t. Not right now.” Suddenly she was wracked with a violent lurch in her stomach. She fell to her knees, trying her best to not lose her supper. “Peter . . .” When she looked up, he was gone, and her head split wide open.

The pain in her head was overcoming her senses now, and patches of blackness swirled in her mind. She blinked. She was in a nursery. No, she was on Pan Island. There was a book, a book open to a letter. She saw Peter’s hand stretching toward her. Blood on the rock. She shook her head. What was happening? Was she losing her mind? Was she dying? She fought to focus, struggling to stay conscious.

Wendy had barely made it inside the door when there was a physical pull from inside her skin, as if her center of gravity had shifted. Wendy waited a moment to see if the pain in her head subsided. There was a pause, and she raised her hands to push on her temples. Oh, Lord, was it gone? Then the blinding pain returned, roaring this time, pressing on her brain like someone was smothering her skull. With a gasp, she fell to her knees as the pain ricocheted around her head and behind her eyes. She crawled, hand over hand toward her hammock, sweat dripping off her forehead. Wendy wretched and wretched again as her head felt as if it were being torn in two. She clasped her hands over her ears and screamed, a funny thought bursting through the pain that this was all so improper. If Peter saw her now, what would he think? Tears dripped down her cheeks as she pulled herself along the floor. If she could just make it to the hammock, if she could just sleep forever, the pain would go away. If this was death, then it would be a release, a relief, from the pain that was setting her skull ablaze. Her white hand clutched at the floor as the pain overtook her, her fingernails making grooves in the wood as splinters shredded her fingertips.