Page 35 of Caging Darling

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I tell Astor’s wraith. “You’re supposed to be near the cave where he made you.”

He cocks his head, his bulky form kneeling in front of me to get to my level on the floor, elbows propped on his knees as he folds his shadowy hands in front of me. “It seems I may follow you wherever you go, Darling, so long as the faerie dust is out of your system.”

“Excellent,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Now wraiths can follow me around.” It’s the sort of thing I would have once asked Peter to explain to me. Now I’d rather just not know.

“You’ve yet to answer my question.”

“I don’t want to answer your questions,” I practically spit. “I don’t want to talk to you. I never want to see you again.”

“Now,” says the wraith, “what did my fae counterpart do this time?” There’s that familiar mocking in his voice, the one that sounds so much like the Astor I used to know. Before he’d shown me more of himself.

Or maybe the Astor in Neverland, the version I’d trapped in a cave, was the true Astor all along, my friend who almost kissed me in the crow’s nest the conjuration.

“You’re headed to Kruschi.”

“Ah.” There’s enough finality in that one word to drive a stake through my chest. “That’s not entirely encouraging, now is it?”

“No,” I say, incited by the wraith’s implication. “You’re wrong. There’s just something…” I push myself off the floor, pacing the bathroom as I run my sweaty palms through my hair. “There’s something we’re not seeing. Some reason he can’t get to me. He wouldn’t just…You wouldn’t just abandon me. You wouldn’t just…”

“Forget about you?” says the wraith, his tone impassive. Curious.

“I’m your Mate,” I say, turning to the wraith. While the tears had stopped momentarily during my tirade, they’re streaming again, and I don’t know how I’ll ever make them stop. “You can’t just forget about me. You can’t…”

The crunching of bone. The slicing of flesh. I cover my hand with my mouth, again unable to keep the sobs contained.

And then I think of every moment I’ve desired Peter. The one thought that’s kept me from giving myself to him completely. The hope that I could save that last part of myself for Astor.

My mind won’t stop watching him lead that red-headed woman up the stairs.

“What day is it?” I ask the wraith.

“How am I to know? My home is Neverland.”

“But you said you’ve been trying to talk to me since I got back to Neverland. How long have you been trying to reach me?”

The wraith looks at me. He’s still kneeling on the floor, keeping himself lower to me.

“Just tell me how long it’s been,” I practically beg.

“I began trying to contact you a year ago,” he says.

The words crash into my chest with the weight of a gavel.

“A year,” I breathe. “It’s been a year.”

No, I’ve been counting. It’s only been nine and a half months…

But how many days have I lost to faerie dust? How many days have I lost to Neverland?

A year.

A year since Astor betrayed me. A year since I severed our Mating Mark. A year trapped with Peter, languishing under his spell.

From Astor’s perspective, a year with the being who tried to rape me in the Carlisles’ manor.

And he’s been on the other side of the world.

“You don’t care,” I whisper. “You’re not coming. You were…” I hold on to the words just a moment longer, like if I can simply keep them close, they can remain untrue for just a few seconds longer. “You were never coming.”

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