Their Vicious Darling (Vicious Lost Boys #3)(51)

“Forget Mother and Father,” Bash says. “You need to ask yourself, dear sister, is it worth it still?”

I may have been separated from my sister for a very long time, but I recognize the sadness that comes across her face.

The weight of it all is crushing her.

She was never raised to have the throne. And almost every monarch that came before her has been surrounded by family.

But Tilly has no one left.

Not our parents. Not Nani. Not us.

I feel pity for her.

And deeply sad.

“We don’t want this for you,” I tell her. “We never did.”

“It’s why we made the decisions we made,” Bash adds.

“We wanted to shoulder the burden of the court, Til,” I say. “We never wanted you to have to sacrifice anything.”

And it’s absolutely true.

We never would have killed our father if we’d have known this is where our little sister would end up.

But there is selfishness propelling me forward now.

I no longer want the throne to protect my sister.

I want it for myself and my brother.

Because it is rightfully ours.

I look over at Bash as our sister’s silence stretches between us.

She’s breaking right before our eyes, but we can no longer be weak for her.

We don’t need our fae language to know what the other is thinking.

Now, Bash says with his eyes.

We both leap from the tree and tackle our little sister.

Bash hooks her around the shoulders. I grab her by the legs. Her wings beat feverishly behind her, but she’s not strong enough to hold us all up.

We sink toward the forest floor.

She fights, trying to dislodge us, but once we’re on the ground, we want to keep her there.

And our little sister isn’t the only one well-versed in fae magic.

Bash lets his run wild.

Honey drips from the tree branches above us and several thick globs hit our sister’s wings. They come to a halt as she wars with the illusion and the weight of the thick goop, even though it’s not real.

The honey follows the delicate, veiny structure in her forewing and quickly encapsulates her hindwing.

“Give up this fight, Tilly,” Bash says.

She struggles with the added weight, panic rising in her face. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Bash and I advance on her.

“What do I have, if I don’t have the throne?” Her voice catches. “This is what Father wanted me to do.”

Sometimes I wish we could go back and change it. I wish our family could be together again, though perhaps minus Mother.

But even if we could, it would never be the same.

And I often suspect that what remains of my early memories is only half truth. It’s like a reflection on water, stretched on ripples, a bit unrecognizable.

We were always dysfunctional. And Bash, Tilly, and I did what we had to do to survive.

And now Bash and I have to do it again.

Bash lunges for our sister.

The honey cracks and her wings beat behind her.

She takes flight and down on the beach, the fae soldiers wail and shriek.

Through the trees, I can just make out a shapeless figure darting through the soldiers and he’s…devouring them?

“Holy shit,” Bash says. “That’s the Crocodile.”

“Fall back!” Tilly screeches. “Fall back!”

Several fae take to the air. The Crocodile snatches one by the foot and yanks him back down. His wings work at the air and he gains an inch, only to lose two more.

The Crocodile unhinges his shapeless mouth and within seconds, the fae is gone.

The rest that remain form a V in the air above us and disappear over the treetops.





32





PETER PAN


My relief that Roc isn’t dead after all, that I won’t have to worry about Vane holding it against Darling or me, is short-lived.

Roc catches me off guard and hits with such force, my teeth clack together and my vision goes white.

I know I’m flying backward, but I can’t see through the stars and so I don’t know which way is up.

When I hit the cool water of the lagoon, the panic settles in.

The lagoon does not always give. Sometimes it takes. Sometimes it demands something of you in return and I have too much to lose.

I drop into the water on my back and the water immediately engulfs me.

When the ringing has left my ears and I orient myself toward the surface, I swim up, kicking my legs.

Until something grabs me around the ankle and drags me deeper.

The light at the surface gets further and further away and the bright blue glow of the lagoon water turns dark.

Down, down I go.

I fight against whatever spirit or creature has me, but there is no substance to its form, no fingers to pry free.

Air bubbles escape from my nose and float up to the top.

I may be immortal, but I still need to breathe and there’s no telling how long I can last down here.

It’s eerily silent save for the distant creak of what sounds like a rope.

When I reach bottom, the water is so chilly, I can barely feel my feet or my fingers, but I grope around blindly looking for anything to tear free.