The Never King (Vicious Lost Boys #1)(10)

I give him a hard pat on the back. “Now let’s go get a drink.”





Our footsteps echo in the underground tower as we wind up the wrought iron stairwell. When we emerge on the main floor of the treehouse, I take in a deep breath of the salty sea air.

In the distance, gulls cry as they fight over scraps.

I can’t see the Darling yet, but I can feel her.

We are a house of cold, hard edges.

She’s already made it feel warmer and I’ve barely known soft or warm in my life.

The Lost Boys like to joke that I ran away from my mother the moment I was born.

But if I am honest about it, I think the island birthed me. I have no memories before I woke up here shrouded in magic.

Down the hall, Kas laughs at something and Bash snorts.

I smell rum on the air, which means the twins are already drinking. Little fuckers are the little brothers I never wanted or needed.

Vane and I go up the grand staircase and come in on the loft. Some of the wild parakeets are perched on the branches of the Never Tree, their soft warbles indicating they’re falling asleep.

I miss the sound of their chirping.

I miss a lot of things about the daylight.

When I step through the doorway, the Darling’s eyes track me.

She can’t help it.

No one can.

Even a king without a throne demands attention.

“He has risen,” Bash says.

I glare at him as I go to the bar. We have hundreds of bottles of liquor that are lined up on the shelf in front of a wall of mirrors patinaed with age and cracked by carelessness.

As I reach for my favorite bottle, I look up in the mirror and catch the Darling staring at me in the reflection.

Blood rushes to her cheeks and she quickly looks away.

I pour a shot of rum then add a few ice cubes to the glass and finally turn to the room, to her.

She still won’t look at me.

I take a swig, let the alcohol roll around on my tongue before swallowing it back, let the burn settle in. It reminds me that I’m alive.

Aren’t I?

I snap my fingers at Bash and he brings me the steel cigarette case, flips it open for me so I can pluck one out. I pull the lighter from my pants pocket, flick the wheel and light the end of the cigarette.

The smoke burns differently than the liquor, but it burns just the same.

I am alive.

I am alive.

The Darling sits on the leather sectional in the very center. The large couch makes her look small. Her bones are sharp against her sweater.

She’ll pay a cost for a debt she knows nothing about.

I do feel sorry for her, the little Darling girl. But not sorry enough.

I take a hit from the cigarette, let the smoke leak out before sucking it back in with a deep inhale.

This catches her eye.

She swallows hard, then zeros in on the blade strapped to my arm.

I can hear the rapid beat of her heart, but I don’t think she’s scared so much as intrigued. Time to teach her the first lesson.

“Get up,” I tell her.

She looks to Kas.

“He can’t help you,” I say. “Get up, Darling.”

She rises. She has no shoes on and the bones of her feet stick out from her flesh like the spines of a lion fish.

What did Merry do to her?

The rage comes back, but this time it’s kindled by something else.

Something I don’t like.

“Vane,” I say and he falls in step beside me. “Darling. Follow us.”

“Don’t run,” Bash warns her. His tone is light, but the warning is serious. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll heed it.

We go out through the bank of doors that leads to the balcony where stairs wind down to the patio. There’s a fire burning in the stone pit and Lost Boys hanging around, drinking and cavorting with some of the girls from town. One of them is quietly strumming on a guitar.

When they see us coming, the guitar lets out a twang, then goes quiet as they all rise and bow their heads as we pass.

The Darling’s pace falters.

“Keep up,” Vane warns her and gives her a shove.

She walks.

I take one last hit from the cigarette, then flick it into a nearby pot. It’s full of rainwater from yesterday’s storm and the ember sizzles.

The patio breaks to hard packed earth where a root-covered path winds through the palm trees and large auris plants. Firecracker flowers and bright hibiscus blooms hang over the path.

The Darling plucks a firecracker from its stem and rolls the petals between her fingers, then smells the oils left behind.

Down the hill, the ocean laps against the shoreline. The gulls have caught a headwind and are hovering in flight, their wings tipped in the silver light of the nearly full moon.

That’s another thing I miss—flying.

We go down to the beach, the white sand squeaking beneath our steps.

The wind is coming out of the north and I swear I can smell the filth of pirates.

“Look around you, Darling,” I say.

She’s caught between me and Vane, her arms folded over her chest.

She looks down the shoreline, south, then north. My territory is the entire south end of the island, from the point of Silver Cove to the craggy outline of Marooner’s Rock. Hook’s territory is on the other side, on the north end of the island, with Tilly’s territory like a pie wedge between us.