Page 27 of Freeing Hook

Maddox nods. “Yeah. Peter, Astor, and Iaso.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “Peter knew Astor’s wife?”

CHAPTER 10

WENDY

Peter knew Astor’s wife.

That information shouldn’t shock me. I knew that Peter and Astor were acquainted. It stands to reason that Peter would have known Astor’s wife as well.

So why does that knowledge bother me so?

Perhaps it’s what the knowledge implies about Peter’s age that unsettles me. I’ve never asked him his age. Deep down, I probably knew he was older than he looked. I’d gotten the impression that the Lost Boys hadn’t aged since being transported to Neverland. It stands to reason that the same would apply to Peter. If he was close friends with Astor and Iaso, he’s likely in his mid-thirties as well.

How he’s managed to evade the curse that made the fae mortal, I don’t know.

There’s a lot about Peter I don’t seem to know.

Perhaps this new information is just another reminder that I’ve only scraped the surface of who Peter is. There’s so much left to discover about my Mate, so much he hasn’t told me. Not that I can blame him. Our relationship has been a bit of a whirlwind—a lovely, exhilarating whirlwind.

But now that the whirlwind is over, I’m afraid to open my eyes and witness the destruction in its path. Afraid to gaze upon that which I chose to ignore when I was wrapped up in the sky.

Still, I remind myself this new information isn’t a reason to distrust Peter. As much as a thorn pricked at my heart when Maddox told me such a tender part of Peter’s childhood, one that he hadn’t shared with me—that he, Astor, and Iaso grew up together—it’s not as if this changes who Peter is. Iaso is dead, and if Peter knew her for years, it would make sense that he’d have little motivation to bring her up.

And it’s not as if I don’t have painful parts of my past that I’ve kept from Peter. No, not kept—held onto for later.

Granted, Peter doesn’t feel pain, so it’s possible that he doesn’t even register the importance of sharing that kind of intimate detail with me. I’m not sure if that’s comforting or unsettling.

I’ve already opened the door to the captain’s room before my brain can process the shuffling sound coming from inside.

When I left Maddox in the hallway, my feet carried me back here, my mind buzzing. Not only did the news of Peter’s childhood friendship with the Astors rattle me, I’m also invigorated by the idea that I’m so much closer to freeing Peter of his curse than I ever would have thought possible after being taken captive on Captain Astor’s ship. Sure, I’m nervous about impersonating a woman I’ve never met, but that’s a small anxiety to pay for what’s before me.

I’ve been visualizing it, playing coy on Captain Astor’s arm while we siphon information out of the faceless but extravagant Carlisles.

Perhaps that’s why I don’t think before I barge into the captain’s rooms.

Well, he’s not naked. So I have that to be thankful for. But he’s clearly just gotten out of the bath, his black hairslick like it’s wet with dew, his tanned skin red from the hot water someone must have fetched him from the ship’s boilers. A towel’s wrapped around his waist, but that only slightly soothes the embarrassment. Astor’s cheeks heat. With anger or embarrassment or a mixture, I’m unsure.

I just stand there like an idiot. Instead of averting my eyes like a respectable person, I fixate on the scar on his chest, just over his heart. It looks as though he was burned once, deeply enough that even his fae magic couldn’t rid him of the imprint.

“If you came to ogle me, you’re not doing a very good job of it. I recommend the rotted hole between the slats to the door’s left if you’d like to get a better view next time.”

I bite the corner of my lip. The captain’s tone isn’t exactly warm and teasing. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to barge into my room?”

“I didn’t mean to catch you after… Well, I didn’t think. My feet just carried me back here. I wasn’t thinking…” I stop myself, then dig my feet into the ground. “No. You’re the one who shackled me to your bedpost. Where else was I supposed to go when this is where I’ve been sleeping?”

“Anywhere, so long as it’s away from me. Forgive me, I should have anticipated you’d wish to return to your chains.”

I close my eyes and try to keep the tears stinging my eyes at bay. There’s a light thud on the ground, then the sound of fabric sliding against skin. When I’m confident he’s clothed sufficiently, I open my eyes, then turn to go.

“Wait,” he says as my hand hits the doorknob. My fingers tremble around the curve of the metal, my heart thudding, warning me to get out of the captain’s rooms, but my feet remain planted.

“Come here,” he says, and my limbs obey.

When I turn to face him, I’m relieved (and mortifyingly disappointed) to realize he’s slipped a white shirt over his chest. It’s slim-fitting, hugging his musculature.

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