Page 15 of The Last Lost Girl

A young man stands under the tree. In the moonlight and from this angle, it’s hard to make out his features, but he’s tall with broad shoulders and a tapered waist that reminds me of the build of some of the swimmers at the aquatic center.

He begins to laugh, carefree and full. Like someone told him the best joke he’s heard in his life.

He cranes his neck and looks up into the branches where I’m desperately trying to blend in, then flashes a brilliant smile. “Hello, Ava.”

seven

A thunderstorm builds within my heart and fear cracks through every inch of the veins that snake through my body.

Before I can even consider how he knows my name, he jumps up and grips the branch I’ve claimed, pulls himself up, and throws his leg over the branch to straddle it. Shirtless, the highest planes of his skin gleam in the moonlight and the shadows settle into the contours of lean muscle.

His hair is shaggy and fans out over his ears. It’s a light shade. Blonde or red, maybe. I can’t tell in the moonlight. His ears are rounded at the top and not the least bit pointed. And he has high cheekbones and a golden boy grin if I’ve ever seen one. Or perhaps his is more like the Cheshire Cat, which is fitting since I completely empathize with Alice in my present predicament.

He’s wearing threadbare shorts, frayed where they’re cut off just below his knees. His eyes drift down my face and he takes his time looking me over. I suddenly wish I was wearing more and my clothes weren’t wet, gritty, and plastered to my body, because when his gaze lifts, it is sharper.

“Who are you?” I ask, afraid he’ll hear the tremble I can’t hide in my voice.

We have a staring contest. I’m determined to win, so I do. And when I best him, he laughs again and looks up to the sky. I study his features, trying to see if anything at all seems familiar. There is something slightly unhinged in the way he speaks and acts. I can’t see his shadow, but I wonder if he has two, and if one is oily like Belle’s.

“Are you Peter Pan?” I guess.

Another laugh. I’m so glad this guy finds me entertaining.

“No, I’m not Peter.”

He raises his brows as if willing me to guess his name. Maybe I should start with Rumpelstiltskin. Maybe all the stories and fairy tale kingdoms are real.

I don’t know his name, and I have no idea how he could possibly know mine. Can he read my mind? I swear. I’m so not in the mood to be the Bella to his Edward.

Unless he got it from my sister…

My stomach sinks at the thought.

Is she with Pan? I don’t believe she would go to or with him willingly.

He raises his brows expectantly.

I clear my throat and try to quell the panic rushing through me. “Well, you’re certainly not Hook.”

“How very clever you are,” he quips derisively, raising his hands to wiggle all ten fingers. His lip curled the moment I said the pirate’s name, and while my guess disgusted him, I did figure out that Hook is, indeed, real. “But how about you stop telling me who I’m not, and tell me who I am.”

I don’t like the way he looks at me. Don’t like how close he is or how he keeps laughing. I consider dropping from the tree and making a run for it, but the moment I flex my foot, pain shoots through my ankle again. I glance down to find that it’s tripled in size and begin to panic. It’s definitely sprained and possibly broken. And that means that while I can limp away from a saltwater croc that’s still swimming in the sea, I won’t be able to outrun the muscled guy who considers the jungle his gym.

The anticipation in his expression melds with delight. He places his palms on his thighs and leans toward me. “He’s going to reward me for finding you first.”

“Pan?”

Another oozing laugh. “Who else?”

Now I know that my earlier instincts were right. I was being hunted, and not only by the croc. “How did he know I was here?”

That question earns a knowing smile that makes my skin crawl. “Nothing happens on Neverland that Peter doesn’t know about.”

If he knows about me, he must know about Belle, too.

He scoots across the branch. Closer…

Closer…

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