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

“It looks divine,” she says.

“Thanks to you.”

She demurs.

“Sit,” she orders and gestures to the chair on her left. Holt usually sits there. I see tonight she’s chosen violence.

I sit.

She flicks a finger and one of the servants brings me a tumbler of Summerland whisky. It’s one of the sweeter blends and tastes like caramel and spice.

“Is it too early to talk business?” she asks.

“Is it ever with you?”

The laughter that bubbles out of her throat is not amused. “Not when the future of my island is at stake. But you know that.”

“Of course.”

The rest of the family files in. Holt comes to a jarring halt when he sees me in his chair. His jaw flexes. I smile innocently at him.

I have not fucked Holt. Holt hates my fucking guts.

Sometimes I fantasize about liberating him from his.

Giselle holds his gaze for a second too long and then he sits in the chair on her right.

Holt is just one year younger than Giselle, but he thinks he’s the one in charge because he’s a man.

Clearly Holt knows nothing about the might of women.

Amara takes the chair beside me and leans in close. “You look so fucking hot in that suit.”

“I know.”

On the other side of the table, the two youngest cousins of the family share a laugh. There’s Julia, whose parents are dead. And Matthieu whose parents are not.

Julia is destined to be married off to one of the Darkland viscounts. I actually like Julia. We play chess when the mood strikes. She’s spectacularly bad at it but I let her win.

The servants bring out the first course—toasted bread with cheese and slivered roasted vegetables drizzled in balsamic vinaigrette.

“Have you decided how you’ll approach your brother?” Giselle asks as she cuts into the bread with a knife. The bread cracks, then crunches beneath the blade.

“It’s best if I approach him alone.” I drain my whisky and gesture for another.

“You think we’re just going to let you wander off on Neverland without us?” Holt asks. “So you can warn Vane? And Peter Pan? Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Holt.” Amara is talking with her hands, waving her silverware around. “Roc has been with us longer than he was with his brother. He no longer holds allegiance to Vane.”

Giselle is watching me.

I drain the second whisky the servant brought over.

If anyone can spot my lies, I think it would be her.

“Time means nothing to blood,” Holt says.

“Time means everything, Holt,” I counter.

Speaking of which…

I check my pocket watch.

I have an hour and three.

We’re only on the first fucking course.

“Once we’ve visited the fae queen to find out what we’re dealing with, I suggest you all stay in Darlington Port,” I tell them. “Do not wear your royal crests. Stay inconspicuous. Don’t flaunt your wealth. And for the love of god, do not provoke Peter Pan or the Lost Boys. When the time is right, I’ll call for you.”

“How about instead you bring Vane to us?” Holt fingers the giant rock hanging from his neck. It’s about the only remaining magic in the Remaldi family, and it’s both Holt’s line of defense and his last hope.

The Darkland Life Shadow has been misplaced for centuries. And magic has been waning with the Death Shadow off-island.

They’re getting desperate.

Of course the magical rock will work against my vicious little brother who possesses one of the most powerful entities in the Seven Isles. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I tell Holt but I won’t.

The second course comes out. It’s a thick red soup.

Now I’m hungry for something else.

By the third course, I can literally hear the seconds ticking down in my head.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

I check my watch again.

“Have somewhere to be?” Giselle asks.

“You know I like to meditate at a certain time every day.”

“Meditate.” Holt snorts as he saws into his steak.

Almost everyone in Darkland knows me as The Crocodile, the Devourer of Men.

But they don’t know why.

They don’t know what happens when the seconds run out.

“Eat,” Holt orders. “You wouldn’t want all this food to go to waste, would you, Crocodile?”

“Of course not.” I give him a tight smile.

When the plates are cleared again, dessert comes out last.

“I’ll skip the last course tonight,” I tell them and shove back my chair.

“Oh must you?” Giselle pouts.

“I must.”

“I think you should stay,” Holt says.

Technically anyone beneath the dominion of the royal family has to follow a direct order.

Holt isn’t stupid. It was more a suggestion than an order to test me, but not risk his limbs.

“I really must go,” I counter. “But I appreciate the hospitality as always.”

My skin crawls as I hunch over Giselle and kiss the back of her hand again. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

“Goodnight, Crocodile.”