The Fae Princes (Vicious Lost Boys #4)(9)

At the mouth of the hallway, I pause and turn back to them. The twins are at the bar sharing a drink. Vane is a few steps away, closer to Darling than anyone else.

I am envious of him.

Envious of all of them. Kas has Bash. Vane has Darling.

A very, very long time ago, I had Tinker Bell.

It’s moments like these when a memory burns to the surface. Most of my memories are gone or buried. I didn’t want to remember the original Darling, and thinking of Tink brought up only guilt and regret.

I can hear her laughing all of a sudden and I can see her wading through the shallows of the lagoon, her wings glowing behind her.

“Can I be your fairy, Peter?” she’d asked.

“You know you can’t be my fairy, Tink, because I am a gentleman and you are a common fairy.”

“You silly ass.” Then she’d laughed and kicked a splash of water my way.

When the memories burble up, they are always followed by grief.

Tinker Bell was my best friend for as long as I can remember.

And if my best friend could turn on me…

“We go to the palace,” I tell them. “Be ready just before sundown.”

And then I leave them to discuss what a silly ass I am, no doubt.





6





ROC


For all its faults, Neverland is a place with lots of magic and many magical things, and magical things can help a beast find a missing Darling girl.

So I start marking things off the list.

Peter Pan might know how to find Wendy.

The fae queen might know even better. After all, she hailed me to this island with a promise of secrets, and while she gave me one, there were more.

The trouble is, I don’t know how she fared after the fight with Peter Pan and his Lost Boys and his scary Darling girl.

Maybe the fae queen is dead. Maybe the secrets have been lost.

But if a beast has a checklist, the list must be followed, and oh look, the fae queen is next on the list.

I decide to stop off in town before making my way to the fae territory. The Captain’s house sits at the top of the hill so he can look down over his territory. From this vantage point, it’s clear that Neverland’s weather is having a shit fit today. Nevertheless, town is still bustling. People have goods to hawk and bread to bake, whether it’s snowing or not.

I follow the scent of freshly roasted peanuts to a town square by the bay. In the center of the square is a little park with a fountain installed at its heart. The fountain is a stone statue of the Captain in all his finery, his gaze trained on the horizon.

In all my years, I’ve found a common trait among men who erect statues in their likeness: fragility.

Ironic, really.

Dotted around the square are portable carts selling bread and jewelry and fairy wine. Shouting and laughter and some speculation fill the air. A great many eyes are trained on the dark sky.

I spot the peanut cart immediately and make my way to it. A stooped old man stands beside it. There is a tray on the end, stocked full of paper cups overflowing with freshly roasted peanuts.

“Old man, you have delighted this old man.” I snatch a cup.

The purveyor of peanuts looks me up and down. “You’re not old.”

I crack a shell between thumb and forefinger. “You flatter me.” I pop the innards into my mouth and smash it between my molars and practically orgasm right here in the town square. “Bloody fucking hell. You know how to roast a nut.”

He narrows his gaze from beneath the wide brim of a newsboy cap. It’s smudged with peanut oil and dirt. His shirt is denim, which is an odd thing, considering denim only exists in the mortal world. Of course, bits and bobs and trinkets and whores make their way to the island chain from many realms, and I suppose a denim shirt has just as much chance as a naughty slut.

Though I do prefer the slut over the denim. I am happy to stick my cock into a wet, warm hole. Not so much into hard pants.

I crack another shell. “Do you happen to know where I can find Wendy Darling?”

“Who?” The old man shifts his weight, his broken-in boots scraping the pebbles on the cobblestone.

“Wendy Darling,” I say louder.

He shakes his head.

“Pity.”

Snow falls harder, coating the cobblestones.

“That’s some weather, huh?” I crack another shell and the pieces join the snow at my feet.

“Never snows on Neverland,” he reports.

“What do you suppose is the reason?”

The old man shuffles his weight again and the cart groans as he leans into it, using it for support. “My granddad used to say that bad weather was god trying to tell us something.”

“And what do you think he’s trying to tell us?”

“That we’re fucked.”

I laugh and pat the old man’s head. “You’re a delight.”

“You going to pay for those?” He gestures at the bag of peanuts in my grip.

“You going to make me?”

A tremor comes to his right hand. He quickly hides it behind his back. He couldn’t make me if he wanted to.

I dig into my pocket and pull out a coin and flip it to him. He may be old, but he catches it easily, though the motion nearly throws him off balance. He holds out his palm to inspect the currency. It’s twice the rate he has painted on the side of his peanut cart in chipped white paint. Right next to Potter’s Peanuts. And then, Best Nuts in Neverland.