Page 63 of Caging Darling

Even with the Mating Mark pulling us together, it only makes the repulsion stronger. He’s a comfort food I once loved, until I gorged myself on it then spewed it all over my clothes, and now even the scent of it churns my stomach.

I lean into him, though. So he’ll remember what it’s like to hold me. So he’ll want all the more to cling to me, to never let me go.

“I don’t know how to live without him, Peter,” I say, meaning John, but letting him interpret it however he will. Letting him wonder. “I don’t want to live anymore. Please, please just kill me. Please, just let me die. If you love me, you’ll do this for me.”

“You just need some time. Some rest,” Peter insists.

“I’ve had rest,” I say. “I’ve been sleeping for a year now, but it’s never-ending. Just when I think it will get better, it doesn’t. I’m drowning, Peter. Over and over again. Please, just let me die.”

Peter taps his finger against the back of my skull, thinking. “You don’t mean that, Wendy. I know it hurts, but it won’t last forever.”

“But he’ll be dead. John’ll be dead forever. We can’t make him come back…”

“I can ask the Sister again,” says Peter.

“Can she bring him back?” I say, peeking through my fingers.

Peter pauses just long enough to betray the true answer. “She can. It’s just convincing her that’s the problem.”

Lies.

I wail. “We’ll never do it. The Sister hates me. And Peter, it’s my fault that John’s dead. If I had just been able to find a husband…”

“Then we wouldn’t be together,” says Peter like that’s supposed to be a comfort. Like he wouldn’t have slaughtered my husband and taken me for himself, anyway.

“But John would be alive. Can’t you see that?” I say. “I put him in danger. I convinced you to bring him here. Had I left him with Astor that night in the clock tower, he wouldn’t have killed him…”

There’s no blame in my voice, but Peter tenses all the same. “Wendy Darling, let me get you some more faerie dust.”

When he reaches for his pouch, I let my gaze linger on it a moment too long. I even sprinkle in a small gasp of longing for good measure. He hesitates, then brings his hands away from the pouch. For a moment, I fear he’s caught on, but then he says, “You crave it too much. We’ll find another way. Just get some sleep.”

So fickle, my counterfeit Mate.

I go still in his arms. Let him feel me shutting down. “You know what?” I say. “You’re probably right. I’m being silly. I’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll just go to bed.”

Peter blinks, sorrow taking over his expression. He cups my cheek with his hand, then leans over and presses a cold kiss to my forehead. I fight not to shudder underneath his touch, but in the end, I conquer.

“I want you to keep choosing me,” he whispers.

“What else would I do?” I ask it playfully, but he doesn’t buy my improved mood.

Good.

When he pulls away, his eyes are steely with determination. “I also want to be clear about what it means to choose me.”

My heart does backflips at the dread and anticipation of what he might say next.

“Choosing me means that you stay safe above else,” says Peter. “Choosing me means that you do everything in your power to keep yourself unharmed, and most of all, alive.”

My heart stops in my chest. Swells. Explodes within me. I don’t let it show on my face. I blink, like I’m disappointed in his answer.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I whisper.

I hardly feel the kiss Peter plants on my cheek. I’ve barely made it into the Den and out of eyesight before I break into a smile that feels as if it might crack my face wide open.

Peter goesto visit the Sister later that evening. I’d known he would, which is why I chose tonight. Because he’d have no choice but to leave me behind.

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