Page 37 of Losing Wendy

John is a know-it-all. Always has been.

“And what of the part of the island that’s off-limits?” I ask.

“Ah, Wendy Darling, always looking for the boundaries in which she can cage herself,” says an amused voice.

Those at the table go quiet in reverent awe. Except for John, who bristles, and Michael, who couldn’t care less about Peter’s entrance.

He waltzes in like a prince, flicking a few of the boys on the earson the way, stealing the plumpest berries off their plates. But he doesn’t stop with them. Instead, he appears behind me, pressing his fingertips into my shoulders.

There are legends of fae males claiming human females. Of the gentle glamour they seep into their prey over countless touches, their magic building up over time.

If there’s a wall to keep it out, I raise it. But there’s no ignoring the gentle flare of delight that crops up in my belly at Peter’s obvious claiming. In the hushed corners of my mind, I know that as soon as he lets go of me, the thrill will dissipate and dread will seep in to fill its gaps.

“Did you tell our guests what the last rule is?” Peter asks Simon.

I expect Simon to flash a smile. Instead, he glances at me and blushes.

I can’t help it. I crane my neck up toward Peter, drinking in his every word.

“No girls,” Peter says, flashing me a smirk.

As soon as he releases his grip, the dam holding back my good sense bursts. Fear of him, of my reaction to him, drenches the tantalizing attraction that swarmed me just moments ago. How long until Peter’s glamour finds a foothold? How long until it overcomes me so completely, there’s no flushing it out when he leaves the room?

“Obviously, we’re happy to make an exception for you,” says Simon, placatingly, if not apologetically. I can’t help but notice the way his shoulders relax when Peter steps away from me.

John rolls his eyes. “And how glad we are for that.”

“How very glad indeed,” pipes up Michael.

When the boysset off to hunt and set traps along the island, I volunteer to go with Simon.

Most of the boys give me an unsure look, but Victor speaks up dryly from the corner. “Please. The lot of you act like because she’s a female, she can’t tie a knot.”

I neglect to add that I could learn to wield a bow and arrow if given the opportunity. My entire life’s purpose up to this point has been to snare a husband rather than dinner. Given I’d failed miserably at that, I need to prove myselfto myselfbefore worrying about anything else.

Simon seems rather pleased that I asked to accompany him, though John is less than thrilled. My brother might be brave, but he’s practical and levelheaded enough to know it will only cause more problems if he tries to hunt with the others before his knuckle heals over, so he stays behind to keep watch on Michael.

In the end, Smalls volunteers to come with us, which doesn’t seem to surprise Simon at all. “He’ll be enthusiastic but utterly useless,” he leans over and whispers to me.

“I’ll go too,” says Victor, at which Simon blinks several times.

“What? You don’t want the help?” asks Victor, folding his sturdy, pale arms across his chest.

Simon clears his throat and the casual charm returns. “Of course you’re welcome. You can keep Smalls in line.”

Smalls, who has just dropped his fork and is scurrying to find it underneath the table, doesn’t seem to notice.

Our escapefrom the reaping tree is just as unpleasant as our entrance. At least I’m prepared to feel suffocated and strangled this time.

Victor and Smalls separate from us quickly, headed to check a few of the smaller traps toward the center of the island, though they’ll meet up with us at the traps meant for larger game in case we need to drag a boar back to the Den.

By the time Simon and I reach the beach, the sun is mostly risen, which I find a tad disappointing.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks good-naturedly.

“I just thought it would be nice to catch the sunrise.”

“You act as if you won’t get another chance,” he says, nudging me in the shoulder.

---