Lost in the Never Woods(92)

Wendy’s hands gripped the teddy bear in her lap tightly. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“Then you started telling my stories less,” Peter continued. He spoke faster, his words tumbling from his lips. “I could see that you were growing up, that you were going to move into your own room, become a teenager, and forget about me. When John and Michael were—” Peter let out a frustrated noise and started again. “When I found the three of you in the woods, you begged me to bring you along to Neverland, and I wanted to. I didn’t want you to grow up and forget about me, too. It—” He gave her an uncertain look. “It hurt to think about.”

Wendy could hardly understand him. She felt dizzy. “What are you saying?” She felt out of breath.

“You were the oldest kid ever to come to Neverland, Wendy,” Peter told her. His fingers finally pressed to the inside of her wrist, heavy and warm. “It’s meant for children. I think that’s why I started losing my magic and Neverland began falling apart. It’s my fault all of this happened…” His face was twisted.

“But you didn’t know that would happen,” Wendy said. Her body was acutely aware of him—where his hand was on hers, the way his body was angled toward her, how she was close enough to feel his body heat. The acorn pressed against the center of her chest. It felt hot.

“I went against the rules,” Peter told her. “My job is to look after lost kids. I’m not supposed to interact with the others. I could watch, I could listen in when you told stories, but I wasn’t supposed to approach.” He paused and wetted his lips. “And then everything went wrong,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to hate me.” He spoke slowly, deliberately.

Wendy’s brows furrowed. She didn’t understand what he meant, but she couldn’t think through the heady fog. Wendy didn’t remember leaning in, or Peter moving closer. Their shoulders pressed against each other. Peter’s startling blue eyes were wide. His cheeks flushed. His fingers brushed against hers. Wendy’s heart fluttered in her chest.

At first, she thought she was trembling, but it was Peter.

“You’re shaking,” Wendy said.

Peter’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, giving a barely perceptible nod of his head.

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything?” Wendy heard herself say. She was lightheaded and breathless.

“I’m terrified,” he said quietly. His starry eyes held hers and she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

“Of what?” Wendy asked.

Peter’s words brushed against her lips. “Losing you.”

Wendy leaned in closer and placed a hand in the center of his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thudding against her fingertips. His palm pressed against her cheek. Her head swam as she drowned in the smell of humid jungles and salty oceans.

The acorn around her neck burned bright in the small space left between them. It gleamed in his eyes.

“Can I stay with you?” Peter whispered, ghosting over her lips.

Wendy balled the front of his shirt in her hands, pulling him to her.

There was a moment of lips pressed to lips, the taste of honeysuckle, and an unbearable lightness that made her feel like she would float away if she didn’t hold on to him.

But then the window burst open, an exploding backdraft of darkness that tore them apart and threw Wendy to the ground.





CHAPTER 20

Truth





The tiny bulbs lining the room popped and burst, snuffing out the lights. The window clattered and swung violently on its hinges. Wendy tried to push herself up, but pain splintered through her head. A groan sounded at the back of her throat and the room beneath her swayed.

Peter let out a cry that snapped her out of her daze. He lay splayed on the floor a few feet away from her. His eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace. His entire body writhed in pain, fingers dragging against the floor. His back arched unnaturally. The muscles in his neck bulged and strained under his skin. His usually warm hair was dark with sweat and plastered to his forehead. His breaths sawed in and out, mixed with guttural cries.

“Peter!” Wendy got herself up and tried to run to him, but her feet wouldn’t move. Her body weight pitched her forward. Her feet were caught in something like sticky black tar. She tried to tug them free, but they wouldn’t budge.

High-pitched laughter filled the room and cut into her head, setting her teeth on edge. She clamped her hands over her ears.

Lounging on the window seat was the shadow. It leaned back comfortably and smiled its jagged grin. “That was almost too easy!” it said before laughing again. With a flick of its wrist, thick black strands bound Peter’s arms and legs, jerking him up. Peter cried out as he hung suspended in mid-air.

Wendy tried to lunge forward again, to get to Peter, only to fall back to her knees. “What are you doing to him?!” she demanded, her lips peeling back in a snarl. “Let him go!”

The shadow turned to Wendy. Its fingertips, thin and pale like bones, pressed together and drummed rhythmically. “I should really be thanking you,” it said to her, its lips quirking into an angular smile. Its mouth looked like it had been carved into its face with a serrated knife.

Her face screwed up in anger and confusion.

“Wendy,” Peter groaned through agonized gasps, his lips pale white. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Run.”