Their Vicious Darling (Vicious Lost Boys #3)(17)

“Smee said Darling is fine.”

“You’re going to believe a pirate? Who is our enemy?”

“Smee is not our enemy,” Pan argues. “She’s probably the most neutral party on this island.”

Vane throws up his hands and turns away.

“Do not go to Cherry, do not touch Cherry and do not kill her,” Pan warns.

Vane barely acknowledges the warning before he grumbles and leaves the room.

“He’s on edge,” I say to Pan.

“He always is,” he jokes. “He’ll be all right.”

But even I can hear the doubt in Peter Pan’s voice.

In fact, I have the distinct impression Vane is this close to snapping.





10





ROC


“I feel like we’re in the fucking Middle Ages,” Holt says as we make our way to the fae palace. “No cars? No transportation at all? Neverlanders just walk everywhere on foot? Barbaric.”

Giselle has several folds of her dress in hand, lifting the hem out of the dirt as she walks on her heeled boots.

Beside me, Amara laughs at her brother and sister. “I quite like it,” she says. “Neverland is one of the last wild places in the Seven Isles. Don’t you think?” She turns to me and a lock of her blond hair escapes a pin and curls over her forehead. The late morning light warms my skin and rims her in gold.

“I think anything left to be what it was instead of trying to be something it isn’t should be commended.”

Clasping her hands behind her back, Amara nods. “I suppose I should respect that about Peter Pan and his Neverland.”

His Neverland.

I may be immortal, but even I am not as old as Peter Pan.

When I was just a child in the Darkland highlands, there were whispers even then of the man who might be a god.

Which begs the question—can he be killed? Can he die? Because if he can’t, dealing with him would require finesse and creativity.

Should we come to a crossroads where Peter Pan needs to be dealt with, that is.

The fae palace finally comes into view and Holt grumbles with relief. “Finally.”

“Whoa,” Amara says beneath her breath.

We stop together on the foot path to take in the sight.

The fae palace is one of the most idyllic places in the Isles. Several spires dot the landscape and the stone glitters like an alabaster seashell just beyond a large, arched gate.

I am aware that most people would label the fae palace as “straight out of a storybook” but I can’t help but be reminded of the myth of Hansel & Gretel and the witch’s house made of candy.

That which looks magical and inviting is not always a place you want to be invited to.

When we come to the gate, two fae guards are already waiting for us. Their wings are thick and glistening dark green like algae skimmed off the bottom of a swamp. The man has horns that curl over his forehead.

The woman wears a wide-eyed startled look meant for surprise funerals and planned orgies.

“The queen is expecting us.” Giselle’s smile is carved from impatience.

“State your name,” the man asks.

“State my name?” Giselle huffs.

“Honestly, sister,” Amara says, “would you let in just anyone at the Darkland palace?”

Holt sneers at me. “We let him in.”

“They let me into more than just the palace,” I say back.

“My name is Giselle Remaldi, Royal Queen of Darkland, Duchess of Noir. And as mentioned, the fae queen is expecting us.”

The guards look over our group. The cousins stayed on deck so it’s just Giselle, Holt, Amara and I. We’re all in Remaldi black.

“Weapons are to be surrendered at the gate,” the woman instructs with a wobble to her demands. “You can collect them again when you leave.”

“You must be joking,” Holt says.

“I don’t think the fae joke, Holt,” I tell him.

He scowls at me. It makes his eyes disappear, his nose turn up.

I wonder what face he would make if I cut off his fingers and jammed them up his ass.

I remove the dagger in my boot and the second one attached to my belt. Amara follows my lead and takes the sword from around her waist.

Giselle gives Holt a pointed look and he mutters a string of curse words before removing his own weapons.

When the guards are satisfied, a third man who had been waiting in the watch tower, takes flight from the top deck, presumably to announce our arrival. His wings are silent as they beat at the air.

There are no fae on Darkland. There never have been. So as the fae flies off, Giselle and Holt track his flight with barely restrained awe.

“When we get inside,” Holt says, “let me do the talking.”

Giselle snorts. “You are not the authority here.”

“You don’t know how to deal with other women. You get snippy.”

“I do not get snippy!”

“This is going to go swimmingly,” Amara says.

I dig a handful of peanuts out of the pocket of my trousers and crack one open. Amara laughs.

“Why do you always insist on carrying those around with you?”

“They help stave off my appetite.” I pop a peanut into my mouth and toss the shell.