Page 141 of Freeing Hook

“Of course I did,” I say, glancing away. “I meant it when I said I loved you, Peter.”

“And now you have me,” he says. “All of me, my heart on a platter. Ready for you to run it through.”

“Peter…”

“Things will be different, I promise,” he says. “I won’t let you go again, not like I did on the beach that day. I couldn’t bear to see you go again. Wendy Darling, I could be everything you’ve ever wanted. Just give yourself some time.”

He takes my cheek, brushing my Mark. My Mark that belongs wholly to him now. He means it to be romantic, but all it sparks in me is resentment. He’s right, that I still feel a pull toward him, a tug deep within my heart. But if I’ve learned anything from Astor, it’s that we don’t have to follow the paths our hearts mark out for us, not even when there’s magic involved.

We can always fight back.

It would be easier, to succumb to the comfort of Peter’s arms. Easier than leaving.

I’ve been letting the current take me wherever it will for so long, my muscles have atrophied. I’ve forgotten how to swim against the resistance.

But if I don’t want to drown, I’ll have to start remembering.

“Peter,” I say, taking his hand in mine and removing it from my cheek. “I’ve made up my mind.”

I think it might be the first time that sentence has ever left my mouth. It should hurt, but it doesn’t. It just feels powerful.

I watch him break, and it cracks me on the inside, but not my will. He closes his eyes, like he sincerely believes that when he opens them again, I’ll have changed my mind.

“You’ve changed,” he says when he finally looks at me through those long eyelashes again.

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I nod. “Goodbye, Peter.”

When I go to pull from his gentle grip, he tightens it. At first, I think he’s just squeezing my hand.

But then he doesn’t let go.

“Peter…” I say, warning in my voice, though I carry no threat.

He pulls me into him, pressing his forehead to mine, cradling my back as he pulls me into a gentle embrace. I let myself melt there, into my friend, just for a moment. But then he whispers in my ear. “Stay,” he says. “Choose me.”

Something on the crook of my arm burns, at first a gentle tingle, but it escalates as it deepens. For the briefest of moments, I don’t know what’s happening.

No.

“No,” I gasp, pulling away, but even now, my resolve is dwindling, coming apart at the seams. Glancing down, I catch the remnants of our bargain—the blank check I gave Peter the night in the tower, scalding my skin.

I try to pull away from him. “Peter, no! What are you doing?” I ask, panic overtaking my body. I watch as a third oval forms on my skin, filling the empty space between the other two as it forms a link. A chain. With each passing moment, my muscles do less and less to resist him.

“Peter, please,” I say, my voice high. Begging. But he’s not letting go, and I’m no longer fighting him. “Please don’t do this.”

His blue eyes go bright, tears glazing his eyes, but not falling. This is hurting him, too. Just not as badly as he’d hurt if I left.

“Don’t choose him, Wendy,” he says, then with an exhale that feels like death’s breath against my cheek, he says, “Choose me. Always. No matter what.”

The sob gets strangled in my throat—the lock clicking, the door shutting. The last bit of burnt flesh falls away, leaving smooth pink skin surrounding the now-completed bargain on my forearm.

“Okay.” The word comes out without my permission. “I’ll stay.”

No, no, no, no.

I want to scream, but it won’t come. It’s pent up in my throat, tied and wrangled and stuffed down. I want to beg him to stop,to let me go. For a moment, I fear my mind will leave me, that I’ll blink and my feelings for Astor will vanish away.

I cling to them like a safe harbor.

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