Page 32 of Losing Wendy

I stand there stunned for a moment, but I’m tired of being immobile while the world moves around me. Taking me and leaving me at everyone else’s whim.

You’re the type of girl who allows life to happen to her.

I grit my teeth, pushing the swarthy captain from my mind, and shove past the gaggle of boys huddled around, gaping at me.

A few of them whisper, and John starts to follow me, but I shake my head. “Just give me a moment,” I say.

Then follow Peter down the dark hall.

Partof me expects not to find him, anticipates he’ll have already cloaked himself in shadows, blended into the darkness that’s so clearly his natural home. But then footsteps sound in my ears, and I pick up my pace until I’m running. The soles of my bare feet pound against loose roots along the way. I can only hope I don’t step on a vine of thorns.

A turn of the corner, and I slam into a firm, warm figure.

I’d know it was him even if I hadn’t been chasing him. Theamber and pine scent of shadows is so distinct, burned into my memory from the flight over Estelle, I would recognize it out of context, a world away.

“Stalking me from the shadows, Wendy Darling?” asks Peter. “I didn’t take you for that type, but I have to admit, I’m intrigued.”

I realize then that I’ve run straight into his chest. He must have heard me coming with that fae hearing of his, and turned around to catch me in his arms. One cradles the small of my back, the other hand follows the path of my shoulder until he’s stroking my cheek with the back of his palm.

He leaves a chill everywhere he touches. Like breathing the fresh winter air after being stuck in a smoking cabin.

“You just left,” I say, and immediately realize it was the wrong thing to say.

Peter cranes his head, an amused smirk flickering on the edges of his mouth. “Perhaps I liked the idea ofyoufollowingmefor once? Just how far into the shadows are you willing to trail me, Wendy Darling?” In horror, I watch as Peter’s wings turn to shadows, wrapping in front of him until they cover my eyes with the gentlest touch. “Do you crave the dark?”

Everything is black, magnifying the feel of his hand against the skin of my face.

“The only thing I crave is the truth.”

From the darkness comes a chuckle that has my spine crawling, a haunting that’s as familiar as the silk of my pillowcase back home. “We both know that’s a lie.”

My throat tightens, my body stiffening underneath his touch. A million questions swirl in my mind. For years, all I’ve expected from the Shadow Keeper is to steal me away. To make me into some melding of slave and concubine. I’ve spent years expecting him to strip me of everything I am, of my identity, my very being, until the memories of who I once was fade away and there’s nothing but a fragment of me left.

But now that I’m here, I’m beginning to wonder if the anticipation of such a fate hasn’t been chipping away at me already. Sandingme down until I’m barely a shadow of the woman I might have become had I been ignorant of my future.

I’ve made peace with the emptiness in my soul. I’ve embraced the nothingness.

“I’d just like to know what I’m to expect from you. Grant me that at least,” I say into the darkness, surprised by how my voice doesn’t shake, even if it does scrape my throat on the way out.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Frustrated with the Shadow Keeper’s fingers stroking my cheek, I pull away, wincing. “I thought—” My throat tightens. I can barely get the words out. This isn’t the type of thing I’ve ever spoken to anyone about. “I was under the impression you wanted me. That I was supposed to be a gift.”

The air turns stagnant. “Is that what you want, Wendy Darling? For me to want you?”

“No.” The word comes out just emphatically enough not to sound convincing. A blush rises to my cheeks, and Peter must sense it, because he retracts his shadows into his back, where they take the solid form of wings once more.

Peter scans the blotches spotting my skin, then says, carefully, “The woman your mother bargained with doesn’t have friends. Only lovers and slaves. Sometimes both. You, Wendy Darling, are no gift.”

When he removes his hand from my cheek, the refreshing chill disappears with it, leaving behind the numbness of extreme exposure to the cold.

CHAPTER 13

By the time I wander back to the main living room, the boys are gathered around John, besieging my brother with questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Why did Peter bring you here?”

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