Page 53 of Losing Wendy
My pulse flutters, and I can’t tell if I believe him. “Truly? There’s not some disease on the island that wipes them away? Some magic you possess that…feeds off them? Nothing like that?”
Peter rests his smirk against his knuckles. “Nothing like that, no.”
I slam my journal shut. “What about the Lost Boys? Why can’t they remember their pasts?”
Peter examines me carefully. “The Lost Boys are in a unique situation.”
“What situation?”
“A situation that doesn’t apply to you or your brothers. Is that not enough to comfort you?”
“I care for the Lost Boys too. I don’t want to see them hurt.”
Peter places his hands on his knees. “I’m glad to hear it, Wendy Darling, as that’s a goal we share. Everything I do, I do to protect them.”
“Is that what you did for Thomas? Protect him?” The words are out before I can gather them back in.
Peter’s pointed ears flick, but other than that, his face remains impassive, his casual smirk unaffected. “Who told you about Thomas?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Why? Are you going to punish whoever it was? Is that about protecting them, too?”
Peter shakes his head and stares into the fire. “No,” he says, softly. “I suppose you’re right; I’d rather not know.”
He sinks into a silence I have a feeling further questions won’t breach, so I return to my journal, pondering whether I should be relieved that Peter claims my and my brother’s memories are protected, or if I should believe him at all.
Peter moves so quietly that I don’t hear him until he’s behind me, bent over the back of my chair with his mouth hovering at my ear.
“Oh, and Wendy Darling?”
I snap the journal shut. “Yes?”
“You said you like to think through what you write beforehand. But should you ever write the thoughts that first come to your mind, should you ever cease filtering out those lovely little atrocities before there’s physical evidence that they exist—well, should you ever do that, I’d hide that journal from me if I were you. I might just succumb to my inclination to peek.”
CHAPTER 20
Benjamin lets it slip during breakfast that on the full moon, Peter goes away for a while. This lines up with what I might have expected. The shadows always spoke to me more frequently when the moon was at its brightest.
I can’t help but wonder if Peter’s trips will end now that he has me in his possession. Given he’s yet to seek me out since I arrived, I doubt it. The Shadow Keeper might as well be a child who spent months begging for a puppy for winter solstice, only to toss it aside upon the realization that having a pet paled in comparison to their anticipation.
I suppose that’s me, Wendy Darling, always coming up short of expectations. Granted, usually it’s my Mating Mark that does that for me, though I’m unsure that’s what’s keeping Peter away. Fae males are known for being possessive, and I can see my Mark turning Peter off of me.
One would think that the fact that he has me secluded, tucked away within a mostly abandoned realm, would diffuse some of the jealousy.
Apparently not.
Not that I’m complaining.
It’s been to my benefit that Peter rarely comes near me, a blessing I didn’t expect from my captivity.
Still, I watch Peter stride past the dining table and allow the reaping tree to form clots of vines around him, stealing him from our sight.
Later that night,when I’m certain John and Michael are both sleeping soundly, I sneak out of our room and down the long hallway where Peter’s room lies.
It’s lit dimly by the gentle glow of green lichen that line the walls. In the dim lighting, my shadow diffuses, cresting the earthy ceiling above me as I creep through the tunnel.
For a moment, when the divots in the wall rise and fall, it occasionally appears as if my shadow is the one creeping, moving and dancing in ways my limbs cannot. Fear threatens to turn me back, but I don’t let it, not when I don’t know if I’ll get another chance like this within the next month.
The image of Thomas has been eating away at me at night. His laugh echoes in my ears anytime I traverse down a dark tunnel in search of materials from a closet. His happy-go-lucky grin warps into a scowl in my dreams, fangs ripping from his full lips.