Page 10 of Caging Darling

Astor would hate me for that, too.

That only makes me want to get drunk on it all the more.

Usually, I can banish any thoughts of Astor when I’m with Peter. Can sink into the greedy claws of the Mating Mark and allow them to sweep me away. But something about tonight has him rapping at my skull, judging me for every moment of bliss I steal.

He speaks to me, and though it’s no conversation we’ve ever had, I hear it as clearly as a memory.

This isn’t real, Wendy Darling.

Yes, I’m aware. Just like your love for me wasn’t real, I whisper back in my mind. Just like you only cared for me because your skin was still stained with the last remnant of the Mating Mark.

I thought you had learned to fight.

You’d rather me be miserable fighting than happy giving in.

You wouldn’t?

“Peter, I need you,” I whisper, my voice frantic, desperate as I clutch the clothes at his back.

He takes a sharp inhale. I’ve been back in Neverland for nine months, and we haven’t slept together in all that time. When Peter first called in his side of the bargain, I’d thought for sure he’d bed me. That my having to choose him would force me to pretend I was enjoying it.

But the bargain hadn’t erased my past. Hadn’t kept my body from plunging into a panic attack at the first touch of Peter’s that signaled escalation.

That was the moment Peter realized what he’d done. I’ll never forget the shock in his eyes as he watched me fall apart at his touch. I’d thought he’d known I wouldn’t want it, that it was the bargain forcing me, but the dread in his expression couldn’t have been fabricated.

He hasn’t escalated things since. Hasn’t touched me past slipping his hand under my shirt and leaving the imprint of his fingers on my back.

He’s waiting for me to be the one to initiate.

There’s a part of me that knows that if I asked him, he could make Astor’s voice go away for a little while. There’s a part of me that wants that—not for Peter, but for me. The portion of me that’s grasping for any bit of happiness I’m allowed.

But I know that once I let Peter have me, there will be no going back.

That’s the pitiful part of me talking. The daydreamer girl. The delusional child who thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’s worth holding out just a little while longer.

When Peter pulls away from the kiss, my attention drifts to the stars. By the time I catch myself and glance back at Peter, there’s jealousy sparking in his eyes.

“I’m starting to get a headache,” I say, because that’s become my go-to phrase when I want dust. I’m not sure why I can’t just say it. It’s not as if Peter would deny me.

I wait for him to reach for his pouch, but he doesn’t. I frown. “Did you forget it?”

Peter bites the inside of his cheek. “No. I just thought perhaps we didn’t need it tonight. That we could just enjoy being together.”

The inside of my chest tenses. A metallic taste fills my mouth. When I laugh, it sounds far away. Like someone else’s laugh. “It’s hard to enjoy anything when my head is pounding.”

“I know. I’ll get you some when we get back?—”

“Then I want to go back now.”

Peter’s expression hardens. “Wendy Darling, I know you’re still hurting. But I’m afraid of what you’re missing out on. That life is passing you by?—”

“What life?” I snap. “My brother is dead.”

Peter frowns. “I know. I know. But you’re not. Michael’s not. I—” He steers his icy blue eyes toward me, staring at me through those long eyelashes of his. He slides his hand down to mine, pressing his thumb to my emerald engagement ring. I have this flash of a fantasy of letting it slip off my too-small finger into the black waves below. “There was a time when we were excited about building a life together. I know it can’t be the life you had hoped for. Not anymore. Not without John. But Wendy Darling, there is still a life to be lived.”

“With you.” I can’t tell if the words coming out of my mouth are a question or not. They almost sound too breathy, too longing.

Peter cups my cheek and presses his forehead to mine, his wings beating softly behind him. “What do ya say?”

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