Page 20 of Caging Darling

After a few moments of silence, I find I can’t bear the quiet. Can’t bear my lingering thoughts of John, so I say, “What do you do for the Sister?”

I’m fairly certain I already know, but I want to hear it from Peter.

Peter swallows. Glances down at me, his eyelashes flicking. It’s odd to me, how protective he is of this secret.

“I’ll find out soon enough,” I say.

“I know.” He grits his teeth. “But perhaps you can remain unaware just a little while longer.”

I examine my counterfeit Mate, feel his muscles tense underneath my grip. It’s strange to me, that he’s concerned with how I think of him.

As if the knowledge of what he does for the Sister will shift my view of him. As if there’s anything he could do that would injure our relationship more than what he’s already done to me. As if it matters what I think of him. As if I’ll suddenly stop kissing him back when he kisses me, or my heart won’t reply when he calls for me.

As if my chains aren’t eternal. Could be broken by something as trivial as contempt.

It would be laughable if it didn’t make me want to weep.

“Please tell me,” I say. Less because I’m curious, and more because I want to make him tell me. In my powerless existence, I’d like to have a morsel of control over him.

It would be nice, for once, to be the type of woman at least one man can’t deny. Surely I’ve earned that, at least.

When Peter doesn’t answer, my hope deflates. Goes sour within me.

“I miss us talking,” I whisper into his chest. So quietly a human wouldn’t be able to detect my voice, but Peter’s fae ears do, even over the chilling wind. When his fingers twitch at my waist, I lean into his discomfort. “You used to talk to me. Tell me things. Do I…do you…” I swallow. “Do you not enjoy talking to me anymore?”

Peter snakes his hand up my back, runs his fingers down my braid, then rubs the pads of his fingers behind my ear. I try not to tense, try not to let him know that he’s gotten much too close to the Nomad’s bargain. For months, I’ve kept it covered with cosmetics I asked Peter to pick up for me from his excursions. But even paint can’t mask the feel of grooves in my skin if Peter happened to touch them.

“Wendy Darling, you know I’m obsessed with you.”

A non-answer if I’ve ever heard one. If this were Past Wendy, the Wendy I was before him, I might let it lie.

But I’m so tired. And I’d like so badly to win. Just once. Just this little battle that’s not even a battle I care about. Just so I can win something. Anything.

“It’s just that…she knows. You’ll talk to her about it.”

Again, Peter tenses. “The Sister is my master. She knows a great many things about me I would rather her not. That’s something I adore about you, Wendy Darling. You don’t push me into anything.”

Correction. I didn’t.

“You’re gone for a long time when you’re away. It makes me wonder…”

“Wendy Darling, you’re my Mate,” says Peter. “You’re mine. No one else is. There is no other.”

I pause, dig my fingers into him more sharply. Like I’m worried that if I let go, I might lose him. I feel his breathing quicken, his desperation for my love and affection palpable. As possessive as he was over me before his pain was restored to him, it’s agonizing for him now—the thought of losing me.

“But I’m not yours. Not really.”

Peter opens his wings. Lets the air punch our bodies until we halt in midair. “What did you say?”

“I want it to be true. I want you so desperately, Peter. Like I want water. Like I want dust.” That’s a lie, but it’s effective. “But I keep having this thought, and it won’t leave me alone. Won’t get out of my head. That our Mark is fake, that it’s not even complete, and that’s why something feels off. That’s why you don’t want to share your inner world with me. It’s because your Mark is unfinished. That’s why you can never want me like I want you.”

Peter swallows, but he won’t look at me. That’s fine. If he were looking at me, I’d know I hadn’t made him uncomfortableenough. Usually, my bargain with him wouldn’t allow me to assault our relationship so directly, but because I’m fighting for the relationship, for us growing closer, I suppose this is still choosing Peter, even if it’s not in a way that he would prefer.

I slide myself into the nuance of the bargain and lodge myself there. I’ll hang myself in the noose of this loophole so long as it means I’ve found one. So long as it gives me more breathing room than I have now.

Peter takes a deep exhale, still not looking at me. He flies on. Below us, the black waters of the sea meld with the shoreline of a country I don’t recognize, faerie dust lanterns highlighting the patterns of the zigzagging streets below. It’s beautiful. Once, I would have been entranced by the lights.

But I’ve already been entranced by the shadows, and they make the light look all the less appealing. What it might reveal about me.

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