Their Vicious Darling (Vicious Lost Boys #3)(39)

His teeth grit together and he shows the first hint of emotion since he arrived on my doorstep.

“The princess was mine,” he says. “And the Darling killed her.”

I snort. “You don’t have the capacity to love, beast.”

“Did I say ‘love’, Captain? I said she was mine. There’s a difference.”

My arm aches just below the wrist where my hook takes over.

That old, festering wound, the one that you cannot see, the one that is a ghost of memory and pain, throbs again.

“Is that what she was to you? A possession?” I hold my hook up. “Is that why you took my hand? Because I touched your property?”

“Why else?” he asks.

I run my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip, debating where I should inflict the deadly wound. In the gut would cause him the most pain. But the dick would make him howl.

“I knew you didn’t love her. She was too good for you. You just wanted to possess the pretty Darling girl and debase her with your filth.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You saw in Wendy Darling what she wanted you to see. And that is why I liked her. Because she was smart enough to know it and cutthroat enough to make you believe it.”

The festering wound transmutes to anger and before I can think better of it, I’m lunging at him.

The sharp tine of my hook presses against his throat where his beating heart pulses beneath the pale skin. He sits perfectly still.

“Say that one more time and I’m tearing out your throat.”

He smiles up at me. “You could try.” He sneaks in beneath my guard, bringing his foot to my sternum and shoving me back.

I catch myself on the dresser and the pitcher of water teeters on its bottom.

The Crocodile gets out of bed and his trousers, now without his belt, slouch low on his hips.

“You are an uncivilized beast.”

“You think this is beastly, just wait until my time runs out.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Captain. Where’s my clock? Fetch it and I’ll tell you how long you have before you find out.”

“I don’t have your clock. And if you arrived with one, I would have smashed it to pieces.”

I have hated the sound of a ticking clock ever since he took my hand.

He looks toward the open window. “Well that’s not good.”

“What? What’s not good?”

“Give me your blood, Captain.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s better if you volunteer it.”

I pull my pistol again and grow weary with this back and forth. I should just kill him now, be done with it. My nightmare would be over and I could finally move on.

The hammer clicks as I lock it back.

“I wouldn’t, Captain,” he warns.

“Or what?”

He darts forward. I pull the trigger. The pistol lets out a loud KAPOW and the lead ball hits the window casing across the room.

The Crocodile barrels into me. We slam against the wall together and my pistol slips from my grip as he pins me in place.

“You were really going to shoot me?” he asks, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

“As if there is any question that I want you dead.”

I knee him in the balls.

The air rushes out of him and he sinks to the floor, his face going red.

“Christ, Captain,” he says, his voice stilted. “If you wanted me on my knees, all you had to do was ask.”

“Will you shut up?”

“I don’t prefer it,” he answers.

Smee comes running into the room, looks at the Crocodile, then at me. “What happened?”

I run my hand through my hair, smoothing it over. “A disagreement.”

“I need blood,” the Crocodile says. “Smee, you know a thing or two about that, don’t you?”

I look over at her, hoping to spot the abject disbelief at being roped into his ruse. But there is no such thing on Smee’s face.

“You know what he is?”

“I know of what he might be.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“It was a working theory, Jas.” Smee steps back into the hall and calls for one of the pirates. It’s Daniel who comes shuffling down the hall. He’s half drunk and half asleep.

Smee points to the Crocodile. “Give him your wrist.”

“I prefer them sober,” the Crocodile says.

“This isn’t a dinner menu,” I tell him.

Because Daniel knows better than to argue with orders, he goes to the Crocodile and holds out his arm.

The Crocodile’s eyes flash bright yellow.

The shiver that comes over me this time is not one I can contain.

He rises to his feet and towers over Daniel by a handful of inches. When he curls his hands around the pirate’s offered forearm, a flame ignites in my gut.

“What is he?” I ask Smee.

“He is a member of the Bone Society, isn’t that right?”

The Crocodile drags his tongue over his sharp incisors. “Maybe.”

I’ve heard of the Bone Society and because I hate ticking clocks, I automatically avoid every mention and occurrence of them.