The Fae Princes (Vicious Lost Boys #4)(2)

Get rid of her.

I can hear Vane in the back of my head now. A means to an end. Whatever this is, it can only lead to more trouble and I’m tired of trouble. I want quiet for once. I want to breathe. I want to enjoy my shadow. I want Darling in my arms. I want…

I want to be at peace.

The thought catches me off guard. It’s so unexpected that something burns in my sinuses, something that must be tears.

I want to lie still and not have to worry anymore.

I have the shadow back. Do I really have to play the same game?

No. I’m not fucking doing it.

One more dark deed for peace will be worth it and the spirits will know I am no longer dancing for them, whatever sick joke this is.

I take a breath and then speak the words I swore I would never speak: “I don’t believe in fairies,” I say.

The words practically burn on my tongue, more than the first time I spoke them and watched Tink die right before my eyes.

Except…this time, she smiles at me and hangs her head back and laughs.





2





ROC


Smee finds me at the bar, pouring a shot of the Captain’s best rum. As the dark liquor fills up the glass, it perfumes the air with spice and smoke.

“You’re awake,” she says.

“And you sound positively excited to see me.” I meet her eyes in the reflection in the mirror over the bar. There is dried blood still smeared across my face, covering my tattered shirt. The Captain didn’t bother to give me a fresh set of clothes.

I have a solid guess as to why he let me lie in a mess of my own making.

“You told him, didn’t you?” I say to Smee. “And he left for Everland.”

One perk of the beast gorging itself is that afterward, my intuition is especially good, my senses especially heightened. And I don’t sense the Captain now. When I search for him in my sphere of awareness, there is nothing but a void.

Smee doesn’t answer so I goad her some more.

“He left and he didn’t take you with him?” I tsk-tsk.

She crosses her arms over her chest. Sunlight pours in through the leaded glass windows over her shoulder, rimming her in sharp golden light. I don’t know what time it is—Hook’s house is absent timepieces and I seem to have misplaced my pocket watch. But I’d guess it’s a little after nine a.m. When did I feed last? How long have I been out? For someone of my kind, a typical feast could render one unconscious for days. But this wasn’t a typical feast and I am not a typical man.

“Yes, I told Jas,” Smee says. “He went after her and I chose to stay.”

She and I both know there’s more to that story, but I don’t really give a fuck what petty squabbles they have going on between them. I just need to know how it affects me. And there is only one part of that statement that has any bearing on my future.

He went after her.

Wendy Darling.

If he finds her first, I will strip the flesh from his bones.

I sling the glass back and drink down the liquor. The burn of the alcohol helps hold the spark of anger at bay. The Captain is gone and now I need a plan. No sense losing my goddamn mind like a stupid little shit.

“How long ago?” I ask Smee.

She cocks out a hip, arms still crossed. “Tell me what you’d do to him if you found him first?”

“Does it really matter if I tell you the truth or a lie? I don’t know if you’d believe either.”

“I’ll know.”

“All right.” I pour another shot and turn around to face her. “The truth is, I’m not sure yet. Circumstance changes the answer. But I’ll probably stab him just for fun.”

Smee’s expression does not change for several long seconds. I love this woman’s ability to give nothing away. I’ve never used the word stony to describe a woman, but Smee could be a marble statue if she just put a little more effort into it.

After a beat, she approaches and takes the glass from my hand and sets it down on the bar, even though I’ve barely had my fill.

“You want to know what I think about you?” she asks.

“Not particularly.”

“I think that you care very little for most things.”

I gaze down at her, trying to gauge her angle. I sense pity, and pity I do not like.

“I think you care very little,” she goes on, “because you think that keeps you safe. If you care for very little, you have very little to lose.”

A knot forms between my shoulder blades, making me shift again.

“But you know what?” Smee says. “Caring for so little means that when you actually do care, losing it has a much higher cost.”

The knot tightens until I can feel it in my chest. Instinct is trying to get me to dance out of her reach, but I will show no weakness to a pirate such as Smee.

“So go on,” she says. “Threaten Jas’s life to the one person who nearly killed the one thing you actually do care about.”

We stare at one another for several long seconds. The house is silent, and we are silent, but our silence says a great many things.

“I like you, Smee,” I tell her. “But you threaten my brother again and it’ll be the last. I’m no artist, but I’m an expert at violence and I will paint a fucking masterpiece with your blood.” I smile and pick up the glass, emptying the drink into my mouth, keeping my gaze on her the entire time.