Page 126 of Caging Darling

All at once, the reality of our situation catches up to me.

“He’ll never…I’ll always choose him…” I say. Because Peter will never let me go. My heart sinks, all the exhilaration of kissing Astor draining from my body while simultaneously making me ache for more. To spend what’s left of our time together until I’ve no currency left.

“We’ll find a way,” says Astor. “Threatening Peter’s life seemed to work for the Nomad.”

I shake my head. “That’s because he can’t kill the Nomad without killing me. It’s the only reason he tolerates him.”

“If you’re worried about Peter killing me, that’s not going to happen,” says Astor. He says it with such certainty, I’m tempted to believe him.

“He killed John,” I whisper. “Because he was frightened of what John had discovered.”

It hits me then that Astor doesn’t know. Doesn’t know it was Peter’s idea to hand Iaso over to the Sister.

“Nolan, there’s something you need to know.” I tug at his shirt collar, and for a moment, as I look into his face, the words die on my lips. There’s a fear that if I tell him, he’ll do something drastic.

But no, Astor isn’t Peter. Astor thinks before he acts.

“It was Peter’s idea to kill Iaso. He’s the one who told the Sister about her when I fell sick.”

Astor’s face blanches. “Why would he—” But the realization must hit him a moment later, because he says, “He wanted me to hate you.” There’s something gut-wrenching about the way his face falls, and he steps backward, resting his hand on the wall to steady himself. He blinks rapidly, and I fear he might faint from the realization and the illness reaping havoc on his body.

“Astor?” I ask.

His vision comes back into focus. “He knew me so well. Knew my inclination to anger, to revenge. He never stopped to consider whether I would forgive you, because what he knew of me, he didn’t think me capable of it.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say.

He shakes his head. “You can say that all you want, my love, but it doesn’t make it true.

“I thought… I thought he loved her, too,” Astor says, and I can see the way his mind is sifting through the past, combing through the memories to figure out which of them were truly a version of Peter who loved Iaso, and at what point he changed.

If he ever changed at all.

“I did this to him,” he says. “The Mark was never his to bear. He was never strong enough. Never had the impulse control.”

His leg is shaking now.

“Astor, he’s not going to let me go,” I whisper. “He doesn’t care what he has to do to keep me. I know you don’t want to believe it, but he’ll kill you.”

“I’d happily die for you.”

Even the thought of such a fate crushes the air from my lungs. “Please, Astor. Don’t leave me again. Not like that. I’d rather you walk out on me, sail away on your ship. I’d rather you leave me behind. Just to know that you were safe would be enough.”

He shakes his head, furrowing his brow. “If you think I could leave you after…” His gaze dances across my mouth, the lips he just kissed. “I’m not leaving you again, Darling.”

My heart floats and sinks at the same time as I take my hand to my Mate’s cheek and stroke it. “It might not be up to you.”

He shakes his head. “There has to be a way…” But as he searches through options, I watch his face fall with frustration.

“We’ll find a way,” he says, and every time he says it, I believe him less and less.

And suddenly, the passion, the fulfilled longing for his love I’d felt only moments ago seems a thing of the distant past. No truer than the dreams I had of Astor coming for me on Neverland, stealing me away from Peter and confessing his love for me. I watch my future play out before my eyes, chained to Peter’s bed as I cling to the memory of my Mate.

But if Peter has his way, he’ll have me questioning whether this moment, this kiss, was ever real at all.

And Peter always gets his way.

“Darling.” Astor leans in to kiss me again, but I tense, placing a hand on his collarbone to keep him at a distance. My hand istrembling, and I know that all he’d have to do would be to brush it away, and I’d give in. But that’s not Astor’s way.

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