Page 44 of Hush Darling
Cassian’s touch disappeared, jolting Wendy out of the sensual haze. Peter stood at the foot of the cabana bed scowling at his friend.
“Did I say you could touch her?”
“Peter, relax. We were only having fun.”
Wendy blinked in confusion. Was that a knife in Peter’s hand? “You think I brought her here for you.”
“No. But she was upset. I was?—”
“I saw what you were doing.”
Rolling to her stomach, Wendy slithered to the edge of the cushion and stumbled onto the sand, laughing when she landed in a heap.
“What the fuck did you give her? She can barely walk.”
“I can walk!” She held up a finger, needing a moment to find her bearings.
“Peter, I only gave her a little pixie dust?—”
“You fucking drugged her?”
“Not without her consent!” Cassian shouted, holding up his hands defensively. “Peter, I swear?—”
“You’re a dead man.” Peter charged, toppling Cassian to the sand, and others swarmed around them.
Wendy could only laugh. “Don’t be such a prude, Peter.” No one seemed to hear her over all the fighting.
The pixie dust made it impossible to get upset. She turned her gaze to the sea as something caught her eye. A dark shape materialized out of the night like a phantom rising from the black. It sliced through the water with silent, lethal grace, and she wondered if she was hallucinating.
On her feet, she stumbled toward the cliffs. Shadows against shadows, the midnight waves parted as the enormous hull of a ship plunged toward the lagoon like the blade of a sword.
This was not a yacht or an ordinary cruise ship. This was a relic made of warped wood and iron. Black sails rippled silently, undetected by the others who watched the fight.
The air shifted as she wobbled to the cliff’s edge. Something wicked and forbidden radiated from the ship’s bones as if she were the one luring it in. Emboldened, she leaned over the edge where the tide had receded, and rocks protruded from the surf like jagged, black teeth.
Pale moonlight glinted against the ship’s prow, revealing a gilded figurehead—half-woman, half-beast. She glanced back, too far away from the others to call the ship to attention. Could no one else see it? Maybe it wasn’t real.
Wind beat at the tails of her coat, lifting them like sails as she blocked the mist from her eyes and squinted. The black ship glided closer, lanterns swinging from the rigging, and her pulse quickened. A tall figure stood at the front, holding a long telescope to his eye, staring directly at her. She swore he was looking into her soul.
“Black Jack,” she whispered, her words swallowed by the raging surf below.
The shadowed figure turned and spoke to the men at his back. Time seemed to snap forward, and everything moved quickly. He called to his crew, but she couldn’t hear him over the crashing waves. How had she wandered so far away from the others? Should she go back and warn them?
Time stretched and spiraled. Rooted to the banks of the cliff, the cold ocean wind cut into her as the thick wool coat flapped wildly at her back. She held out her arms, wondering if she could fly.
“Pirates!” someone yelled, breaking her haze.
Everyone started to scream as rowboats approached the banks and pistols shot into the air.
Wendy staggered back from the cliff, startled by how close she’d come to falling as danger erupted on the beaches to her back. Someone was supposed to be watching her. But as she looked back at the lagoon, black figures swarmed the banks, and she knew she was on her own.
Were they pirates? They had to be after something. People didn’t simply storm beaches and terrorize civilians for no reason. Or did they? This was the Never Lands. One never knew what to expect here.
She should help. Or at least hide. Hiding was probably best. Pivoting toward the dunes, she slammed into the rock-hard chest of none other than Satan himself.
He snatched her arms in an unbreakable grip and bared a lecherous grin. “Gotcha now, little one.”
Then Wendy could only hear her own screams.
