Their Vicious Darling (Vicious Lost Boys #3)(30)

“Pan,” he starts, but I kick the door shut with my boot and seal him out.

On the top stair, I hold my breath, anticipating him ignoring my command.

But he doesn’t come and I’m not sure if I should be relieved or ashamed that I’m keeping this secret from him.

He will never forgive us.

Even if it’s been years since he spoke to his brother, even if he holds a great deal of loyalty to me, I am not his blood.

My footsteps echo back to us as I carry Darling down the stairs and then into my tomb. I don’t even have to think about the light before it’s flicking on of its own accord and washing away the shadows.

My power is growing and settling into place.

But I can’t fucking enjoy it.

Not yet anyway.

As soon as I lay Darling in my bed, she curls into her side and tucks her hands into her chest.

“I feel funny,” she says.

No shit.

Her eyes are still black.

Where the fuck did she get the shadow?

And better yet, how the fuck is she holding on to it?

Now her fainting earlier is making much more sense. I’m surprised she’s not writhing in pain. And yet, everything about Darling, from the moment I first met her, has proven to be different than what I expected.

I have to fix her.

I have to fix this.

“I think I’ll take a nap,” she says.

“I’ll watch over you,” I tell her.

She smiles at me and closes her eyes.

Within moments, her breathing is evened out and I finally exhale with relief and then drop into the wingback.

I don’t break my promises to Darling, so I watch over her while she rests.

There is nothing sinister or terrifying about her right now other than the blood still peppered on her skin.

If I can look beyond that, she looks like an innocent girl with pale cheeks and bony shoulders and a mess of thick, dark hair.

I go to her and sit on the edge of the bed and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

She turns into my hand and breathes in deeply.

My shadow takes notice and writhes beneath the surface.

How the hell did I miss this?

The fucking wolf muddled my senses. I thought I was feeling his energy, but now I think it was the shadow lurking beneath Darling’s eyes.

She won’t last like this. The shadow will burn through her soon enough.

Vane can barely control his shadow and he isn’t even human.

“What am I to do with you, Darling?” I whisper.

I stand and pace the room, hands clasped behind my head as I think. We can remove the shadow if I can find a temporary vessel. It won’t be easy, but it can be done. And Vane—perhaps I can convince him it wasn’t her fault.

Then again, I had plenty of opportunity to save Roc and I didn’t. I was too worried about Darling.

When I come back around to pace the length of the room, I find Darling floating up to the ceiling.

“Darling!” I shout and then realize I’m a fucking idiot.

She lurches awake, realizes she’s practically on the ceiling, and screeches.

I’m beneath her in an instant when she drops. She lands with an umph in my arms.

“What…how…” She looks up at me with wide eyes.

“It’s all right,” I tell her, but it isn’t, and she knows it.

“What just happened? How did I get down here?” She grips me tightly by the biceps. “Why do I keep losing track of time, Pan?”

Panic turns her voice raspy.

I have never wanted to shoulder the burden of someone else’s fear as badly as this.

“It’s all right,” I tell her again.

“What happened?”

“Darling—”

“Tell me, Pan.”

I set her to her feet. “It would seem you’ve somehow claimed the Neverland Death Shadow.”

“What?!” she yells.





17





HOOK


My arm is throbbing.

My throat is dry.

I can’t fucking sleep.

Back and forth across my office. Again and again and again.

The Crocodile is on Neverland soil.

Every possession within my office has been lined up precisely, every shelf dusted and gleaming. There is nothing else to distract me.

I’m going to kill him.

Just as soon as I figure out how.

“Jas,” Smee says. “Why don’t you try lying down?”

“Lie down?” I turn to face her. “Lie down, Smee?!”

She sighs and pushes a boot off the wall to propel herself forward. She plucks a decanter from the bottle collection on the cart and then fills a glass with scotch.

“Drink,” she orders.

“How are you so fucking calm?”

Nothing rattles Smee.

I envy her unflappable disposition. I particularly envy her unflappable disposition when I feel so fucking flapped.

“Worrying will get you nowhere,” she tells me.

“I’m not worried!”

She cants her head and a thick loc slides over her shoulder. “What would you call it?”

I upend the glass. I’m already three in. I can’t be drunk when the Crocodile is on the island. But three glasses have barely touched the knot between my shoulder blades or the constant churning in my gut.