Page 43 of Losing Wendy

The feline creature stalks us in the moonlight, its silky black coat glossy and tantalizing. Fangs protrude from its ebony lips, dripping venom into the earth beneath.

Nightstalker.

Dreamwalker.

“What do you say, Wendy Darling? Would you like for me to hand you over to it? Were you looking for a quick end when you snuck up here, away from my protection?”

Fear seizes me, but this time it doesn’t paralyze me. I shake my head softly underneath his grip.

“You have to remember to look behind you, Wendy Darling. You can’t ignore what might be stalking you from your blind spot. Do you understand?”

I swallow and nod.

“Good,” Peter says, and I can feel the way his lips curl into a treacherous smile, the tips of them grazing my ear.

And then Peter moves.

It’s so fluid, I wonder if he morphs into shadows to pass through my petrified body before materializing in front of me. Long, leathery wings stretch out behind him.

The feline creature whimpers, ever so slightly, as it realizes what a large foe it’s come across, but it digs its haunches in, nonetheless.

It pounces, its lithe body cutting through the air, but Peter is faster. He jumps, his wings spreading out above him, obscuring the night’s moon as he flies above the creature, digging his fingers into the nape of its neck and plucking it from the air, mid-pounce.

With the grace of a panther, he slams it to the ground, landing atop its exposed belly, his boot against its throat as it writhes.

Peter shifts his weight, and something crunches.

I watch as the feline struggles for breath, but it’s too late. Its throat is already crushed beneath Peter’s boot. Slowly, the writhingof its limbs turns to twitching, until before us the petrifying creature lies dead.

“Wendy Darling,” says Peter, eyes like coal as he turns toward me and extends his hand. “That bordered upon unpleasant. I’d rather you not make me do that again.”

The flightback to the tree is more terrifying than the ascent.

It’s the sensation when your body finally catches up to the fact that it was almost severed from your soul. The anger and betrayal it harbors toward your mind for carelessly placing it in harm’s way.

Of course, then there’s the fact that I’m back in the arms of the Shadow Keeper. And that’s dangerous in and of itself.

If Peter is angry, he doesn’t show it. Really, he hardly shows anything except for a mild disdain for my foolish actions. He says nothing the entire flight back. It’s not as if I have anything to say either.

I think it’s fairly obvious what I was attempting. No need to address it, except to say, “John didn’t know what I was planning to do.”

“That much is obvious, or he would have been at your side.”

Something twists in my belly. That my brother’s loyalty to me is so obvious to even a creature as unattached as the Shadow Keeper.

When we reach the reaping tree, Peter lands, then gestures for me to go on ahead. Once the roots deposit me in the Den, I try to scamper away, but Peter is right behind me. Before I can escape down the hall, he sidles in front of me, blocking my path.

“Why did you try to escape?”

I shuffle on my feet. “Because I don’t like being kept a prisoner.”

Peter cranes his head to the side. “You don’t?”

I bristle. “Of course I don’t. Who would?”

A knowing look concentrates Peter’s features as he crosses his arms. His eyes are back to blue now. I suppose he wasn’t in his shadow form sufficient time for the effects to linger long. “Explain to me why you don’t want to be my prisoner, Wendy Darling.”

“Because I’m not free. Because my brothers aren’t free.”

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