Page 75 of Caging Darling

“Once it’s too late. You’ll tell him when it’s too late for him to do anything about it.”

My mouth clamps shut.

“You intend to die from the bargain.”

If I had any tears left, they’d well at my eyelids. As it is, I just feel as if my eyes have dried up, an unpleasant itchiness nagging at me.

“Nolan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I push myself off the wall, my hands struggling for something to grip onto, a handhold to support myself. But the wall is slick, and between it and the wine, I stumble, barely catching myself on a boulder near me.

“I won’t be complicit in you refusing to live.”

“No. No, you can’t leave—” I pull on my hair, staggering toward him. “You can’t leave me. Not like you did?—”

“Darling.” He sounds so placating now. “That wasn’t me.”

“Fine. Fine, you’re not him. You’re not Astor, and you can claim you’re not real, but I can hear you, can’t I? I can talk to you? Please, I have no one to talk to.”

“I can’t stand by and watch you go through with this. I can’t consent. You understand, don’t you?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “Do you remember the night I was made?”

“Of course I remember. How could I not? Telling you what happened to me in my father’s parlor was agonizing. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

The wraith shakes his head. “No, Darling. That’s not how it happened. That’s not how I happened.”

I frown. “You said that was the night I made you.”

“That was the night I was made. It just wasn’t your pain that made me.”

My breath catches. “It hurt him that badly? To hear what they did to me?”

The wraith begins to fade.

“No,” I scream. “You can’t tell me that. You can’t tell me that, then leave. You can’t leave me again.”

When he doesn’t answer, I quiet my voice. “You’re all I have. Please. You’re mine.”

The wraith turns, and for a moment, I think it will be enough. His form darkens. If only my eyes hadn’t adjusted, I could convince myself he was simply Astor standing in the shadows. “Oh, Darling. If only that were so.”

CHAPTER 27

“Wendy Darling.” Peter’s voice is stern. Not the type he usually uses when he’s waking up, sleepy and muted. It’s sharp, piercing me like a harpoon and yanking me from the peaceful waters of sleep.

My heart pounds, still confused about whether we’re awake or not.

“What did you do?”

I frown, stretching my arms out in front of me so that they dangle over the side of the bed. “What are you talking about, love?”

If he’s talking about me severing another hand, I’ll just roll back over and go back to sleep…

“What. Did. You. Do.” He grabs me, flipping me around in bed to face him, then pulls me out of bed entirely, my bare feet hitting the cold floor like a bucket of ice.

Alertness surges through me, though I’m still just as confused.

---