Page 105 of Freeing Hook

CHAPTER 40

WENDY

The Nomad demands to meet with us separately before we leave.

“To ensure your stories match. The Nomad doesn’t like to be double-crossed,” the servant says in explanation as he comes to retrieve me. Astor protests the idea initially, but when I remind him he isn’t responsible for my well-being, he backs off, just as shocked by my forwardness as I am.

When I arrive, the Nomad peers up from his desk, tucking his magnifying glass away as he gestures for the servant to shut the door on his way out. I can’t help but notice that he’s been examining the sketch of the Reaper and the Oak.

“What details do you want to know?” I ask, but the Nomad waves my words away.

“That’s not what I called you in here for,” he says. My chest tightens as he gestures to the seat across from him. “Don’t worry, Miss Darling. I’m sure you’ll find this meeting to your benefit.”

I stand with my back still pressed to the door, though I’m fairly sure the servant locked it behind him. My mind flashes back to evenings in my parents’ parlor, to men so certain that I was enjoying myself. So confident that I was lucky to have theirhands all over me. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your assumption of what will be to my benefit.”

For a moment, the Nomad almost looks serious. “I’ll let you determine that for yourself, then. But please. Sit.”

I nod, ambling toward the chair and taking it. The Nomad doesn’t sit. Instead, he navigates to the front of his desk, leaning his back against it as he crosses his feet. “You’re not here to rid the captain of his Mark.”

I shake my head. “How did you know?”

“Because I fail to see how that benefits you. Though if I’ve missed something, please enlighten me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. At least the Nomad hasn’t seemed to catch on to the feelings I’m attempting to quash for the captain, though I’m surprised he’s that oblivious. Perhaps my face doesn’t show as much as I fear it does.

“I’m here for my Mate,” I say, folding my hands in my lap and stretching them out as I interlock them. When the Nomad glances at the sketch, I amend my statement. “Not…not that one. Peter. He was cursed by a Fate. He can’t feel pain.”

The Nomad brow quirks at that. “Are you a lover scorned, then? Distraught that you can’t inflict the same pain he caused you by having relations with the faerie who carved your face to pieces?”

I let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing my palms against my thighs. “No, nothing like that. I don’t want to hurt my Mate. I just…well, he can’t love me, can he? Not truly. Not without the ability to feel pain.”

The Nomad taps his finger against the desk. “Is that what love is to you, Miss Darling? Pain?”

My throat goes dry. “No. But one cannot love without experiencing pain of some sort. He bargained me away because he couldn’t feel the pain of losing me. Not like I felt for him,” I say, clutching my chest, reaching within for how it felt like it wasbeing rent in two when we left Neverland. Strange, but I can’t seem to remember the sensation that once felt so agonizing. Even so, my connection to Peter is still there, a strand of magic, half of what a normal Mating Mark might be, but tethering all the same.

“Hm,” says the Nomad, staring down at the sketch next to him. “And you’re sure your Mate wishes to be set free of his curse?”

“It’s a curse, isn’t it? They’re meant to be broken.”

“You’d be surprised, Miss Darling, how many mortals prefer to make pets of their curses.”

I shake my head. “Not Peter. Peter would choose to be free if he could.”

The Nomad’s mouth curves at the edges. “He would choose pain? To love you more fully?”

“Just because you can’t comprehend that kind of love doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” I snap.

The Nomad’s laugh chills my bones. “You have no idea the pain I’ve subjected myself to—time and time again—just for a taste of that sort of high. But you know about highs, don’t you?”

Again, the taste of faerie dust blooms on my tongue. When I don’t answer, he says, “So you choose this Peter, then? How unfortunate for Captain Astor.”

I snort. “The captain prefers to cage himself in the past.”

The Nomad’s blue eyes widen, and even I am surprised by the bitterness in my voice. Unsettled, I find myself softening. “If the captain wishes to be rid of me, who am I to stop him? Why would I choose someone who refuses to choose me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” says the Nomad. “Surely you can admit there’s fun in the chase.”

“I don’t want to chase,” I say. “My feet are too tired for that.”

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