The Never King (Vicious Lost Boys #1)(3)

Take your pick.

I don’t want to be mad.

I reach out for a bottle of ibuprofen. I’ve taken so many over the years, I barely know relief from them anymore.

The floor creaks beyond the hall.

I snatch my hand back.

Lightning flashes through the house again and thunder chases it.

When the rumbling ends, I hear a door shut.

Mom.

I race down the hall and hurry into the room, but she’s still on the cot sleeping soundly.

My heart rams into my throat.

Another board creaks.

Maybe someone broke in, thinking the house was abandoned? We can barely afford the rent, let alone the utilities for a house this size. We hardly use the lights.

Slowly, I shut the bedroom door behind me, and slide the lock closed. We don’t have any weapons, nothing practical. We spent all of our money on useless magic.

Breath held, I grit my teeth together.

The doorknob turns.

I slowly back away from it.

Has it started already? Have I already lost my mind?

Thunder cracks through the sky.

The lock thunks open as if by magic and a boot pushes the door in.

The hinges squeak.

I look at Mom again. Was there more to her stories than I was willing to believe?

That can’t be true.

Can it?

Mom lurches awake. “Baby, what’s the time—”

“Shhhh.” I hurry to her side and give her a shake.

But it’s too late. The door is open and he fills up its void.

I can’t fucking breathe.

There is the distinct sound of a lighter being clicked open, then the rough spin of the metal wheel. The flame catches, sending light over his face as he burns the end of a cigarette.

Silver rings on his fingers reflect the flame. Dark tattoos cover his hands. There are several strips of string and leather tied around his wrists. He’s tall, broad shouldered, and wearing a long coat with a stiff collar that stands up around his sharp jaw. Even though his body is hidden beneath the coat, I can tell he’s corded with muscle by the mere suggestion of it in his biceps.

When he pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, I can’t help but trace the veins that snake over his knuckles with a quick sweep of my eyes.

He expels the smoke with a purposeful breath.

“Meredith,” he says, “it’s been too long.”

Mom’s breath catches beside me.

Is this really happening?

“You can’t have her!” she yells.

“As if you could stop me.”

My heart leaps to my throat.

“Please,” Mom says.

He takes a long hit from the cigarette, the embers burning brightly. I hear the tobacco crackle as smoke curls around his face.

There’s a fluttery feeling in my chest that instantly makes me feel guilty.

I suddenly feel more awake than I’ve felt in years.

I should not be feeling anything other than dread in this moment.

This is real. Mom was telling the truth.

“Please,” Mom says again.

“There is no time for begging, Merry.”

He takes his first step over the threshold. So much for that magic.

I gulp down a breath, trying to quell the rapid beat of my heart.

Somehow, in the blink of my eyes, he’s crossed the last of the distance between us. He takes a fistful of my t-shirt dress and yanks me to my feet. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Darling. Which will it be?”

I gulp, trying to dislodge the lump suddenly growing in my throat.

He watches me do it, watches my tongue dart out and lick my lips.

The fluttery feeling sinks lower and the guilt festers and turns cold.

He is my mother’s urban legend come to life and I don’t know what to do with him now that he’s here.

“You have three seconds to decide,” he tells me.

There’s no hint of exasperation on his face, but I sense it, nonetheless. Like he’s had this conversation a million times before and is always disappointed with its destination.

Mom rises next to us and starts pummeling his grip on me, but he’s quick, almost too quick to follow when he drops the cigarette and lashes out, grabbing her by the throat.

“No,” he says easily. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.” He turns back to me. “Go on, Darling.” He gets in close to my face, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. He’s almost too beautiful, too dream-like.

Maybe I’m already mad.

And if I’m mad, none of it matters anyway.

“I’m waiting,” he says.

“The easy way, obviously.”

His brow lifts in amusement. “Obviously?”

“Why would I choose the hard way?”

Mom loses her fight and goes quiet.

“First lesson,” he says. “There is no easy way.” He turns to Mom. “I’ll bring her back, Merry. You know they always come back.”

Then he drops her, snaps his fingers, and everything goes dark.





2





PETER PAN


It takes me twice as long to get back to Neverland and the treehouse with a Darling thrown over my shoulder.

She’s light as a feather. Her rib bones are sharp enough to hurt.