Page 122 of Caging Darling

Peter falters, but I’m out from under his arm in half a moment, heading for the door.

“Wait for me outside the door,” Peter commands on my way out.

I pretend not to hear him as Astor follows me into the hall.

CHAPTER 43

“What is wrong with you?”

Astor’s question hangs from my ribs, compressing my lungs.

Astor paces back and forth in the hallway two down from the Nomad’s office. We forged our way here in silence, not having to communicate our need to get out of earshot of the others, even with the door closed behind us. As we wound through the halls, the thuds of Astor’s boots had become more and more pronounced until we reached an abandoned alcove behind the kitchen staff’s quarters.

Now there’s disappointment lining the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. For a moment, he looks crazed, all the guilt at Peter’s accusation wiped from his face. But then he stops and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a steadying breath. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t understand. Why—why do you hate yourself so much? Why do you think so little of yourself that you stay with him? I keep thinking there has to be some explanation. Some reason. He’s keeping you chained, holding Michael hostage, some reason you won’t leave him. But then you stand there and defend him.” He turns back toward me, waiting for a response. When I don’t have one, his eyes widen indisbelief. “You’re infuriating, you know,” he says, pacing toward me.

He approaches me until my back hits the wall, until there’s nowhere left to go to escape him.

Not that I want to escape. Not that I wouldn’t let him tie me up and steal me and take me with him to the ends of the earth.

I fight against the chains at my throat that keep me from telling him it’s not real. That my love for Peter isn’t real. That it’s not my words, but magic. That I’m more of a prisoner than he even knows.

But I can’t even show him my bargain. Peter’s made sure of that. It’s covered by my gloves that reach all the way up to my elbows, choking me without ever reaching my throat.

“I know,” is all I can manage to say. “I know.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” he asks. “Why don’t you leave him? Where’s the woman who used to climb towers? The woman who sliced off my hand? Where did she go? You were just starting to fight back. Why did you stop?”

Because I’ve been fighting for so long, I just haven’t managed to win. Because no matter how hard I struggle, it doesn’t matter when my opponent is always going to be stronger.

Tears roll down my cheek, but I can’t find a truth to speak that isn’t betraying Peter, can’t find words to make their way around the bargain.

“Just say…say something,” he says, heaving. He props his hook against the wall, and it digs into the board. He’s trembling so hard, part of me wonders if he’s going to yank the board out by accident.

The glassy hook is so near to my face, his other hand, so close to scraping my cheek.

Please see, I beg him with my eyes. Please see me. Please notice that I’m rotting in this prison.

“The least you could do is insult me,” he says, scanning my face with his eyes. “Is that what this is about? Are you trying to punish me? That’s what kissing the Nomad was about, wasn’t it? Because you wanted me to hurt like I hurt you? Well, that’s fine, Darling. I’ll accept that. I’ll take your lashing. Just don’t…why are you killing yourself in the process? Why do you not…”

He chokes on his words, pressing his forehead against mine and shutting his eyes. “How can you not see what I see when I look at you? How can you not recognize your life as something to be protected, valued, fought for? Believe me, Darling, I understand why you won’t choose me. I blew my shot long ago. But why him? Why him, when you could have a life of peace? Do you want so badly to be desired? Because if that’s what you want, what you need…”

He’s breathing heavily now, his breaths sharp, warm against my face. My head is swimming with the headiness of his nearness.

It’s sad, but I think I could stay like this forever, suspended in the longing. Even if Nolan Astor never laid his lips on mine, I think it would be enough, just to feel his hand tense against the board close to my face, just to feel his desire for me coming off of him in waves.

“I choose Peter,” I whisper.

He winces, and when he opens his eyes, he moves backward, pushing himself off the wall and placing distance between us.

“Why?” he asks, pain streaking his beautiful features. “Is it the Mark?” He strokes my cheek, then thinks better of touching me and withdraws his hand. “Did I do this to you, too?”

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

“He killed your brother, Wendy.”

Astor waits for my response, and when it becomes clear that I have no answer, he takes a step back, surrender in his step. “Goodbye, Darling,” he says.

Giving up on me.

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