The Fae Princes (Vicious Lost Boys #4)(23)

He watches me eat from across the island as he leans into the opposite counter, an arm crossed over his middle, a cup of coffee in the other hand.

He’s smiling.

Spoon midway to my mouth, I stop. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“Nothing.” He smiles wider. “I just like watching you eat my food. It makes me happy.”

“Happy or insufferably proud?”

“Ha.” He sips from his coffee and the steam kisses his face. “Both.”

I sense Vane coming up behind me. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I’m busy,” Bash says.

“I wouldn’t let him put a shirt on,” I tell Vane.

He grumbles as he comes around the island fixing the cuff of his jacket.

“Whoa.” I stop chewing. “Sweet baby Jesus.”

Vane looks over at me. “Swallow your food before you choke on it.”

I do and then, “So it’s okay to choke on Lost Boy cock, but not chicken and biscuits?”

Bash laughs into his cup, coffee spilling over the edge.

Vane doesn’t answer me because he knows I’m just trying to rile him up, and he’s not wrong.

“You look fucking amazing in that jacket,” I tell him.

He rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to get comfortable in it. “I hate it.”

The jacket is black with a stiff collar that edges his sharp jawline in fine darkness. There is no visible thread, no embroidery. For Vane, black is just black. It needs no adornment.

“Stop fidgeting,” I tell him.

He grumbles at me. Bash buries another laugh.

“Get dressed,” Vane orders him. “We’re leaving soon. Darling, did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes, and Kas dressed me.” I slide off the stool and fluff out the skirt. Vane stops fidgeting with his jacket.

The connection of the split shadow thrums between us. Awe. Excitement. Joy.

Vane and I lock eyes. These aren’t emotions that I think he allows himself to often feel and if he does, he doesn’t let anyone know it.

But there’s no hiding it from me right now.

The sight of me in a pretty dress has moved him.

I break out in a wide smile, then take several folds of the skirt so I can give him a twirl like I did for Kas.

“You look beautiful, Win,” he says, his voice softer now, the hard edges sanded down.

“Thank you.”

It takes me a minute to realize we’re alone again, the twins having left to put on their own fine clothing.

“Have you seen Pan?” I ask him.

He gives me a shake of his head.

“Are we worried about that?”

He comes around the island and pours some coffee into one of the clay mugs. “Not yet.”

Adjusting my skirt, I make my way over so I can stand beside him at the sink. He’s staring out the windows at the snow that’s starting to collect on Neverland soil.

“He’s going to be okay,” I tell Vane, but I sense I’m trying to convince myself as much as the Dark One.

“I know,” he says, his gaze still on the horizon.

It doesn’t feel like a long stretch of time, us standing there together watching the bruised sky and the snowy island, but before I know it, Kas and Bash have returned and the air rings with the sound of fairy bells.

I turn to face them and let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Everyone is on a glow up.”

The twins stand side by side at the end of the island. Kas’s hair is down and it gleams like dark ebony as it follows the curve of his broad shoulders. Bash’s hair is combed back but not tamed, and several locks try to revolt and hang over his forehead.

He swipes them back again with a rake of his fingers.

They’re both wearing tailored black jackets much like Vane’s, but their collars are folded down and then descend into a wide lapel. White button-up shirts break up some of the black.

“Am I the only one wearing color tonight?” I joke.

“No, not the only one.”

We all turn immediately to Peter Pan, taking up the space of the open doorway.

Something breaks in my chest, because I can’t quite breathe right when I take in the sight of him.

He looks incredible. Fucking hot. The kind of man that if I’d encountered him in my world, I would have drooled at his feet.

The jacket clinging to the broad line of his shoulders is the same emerald green of my dress. I’m not sure if he somehow knew, or if it’s a huge coincidence, but I’m not going to side-eye the cosmic forces clearly at work here.

Where my dress features a bold leaf pattern embroidered in gold, Pan’s jacket has actual leaves fastened to the shoulders to resemble a layered epaulet. More make up the collar of the jacket, so his neck is circled by raw-edged leaves.

His dark blond hair is combed over, not a single lock out of place.

When my gaze finally lands on his face, his bright blue eyes are searching me. He’s unreadable, distant from me, and I don’t know what to make of that. He was an asshole earlier, clearly taking his frustrations out on me. I want to do as Vane says and give Pan some slack, but I’m not going to be his punching bag.

Especially not when we’re about to walk into enemy territory where the woman who killed my ancestor because she was obsessively in love with Pan is waiting for us.