Page 116 of Chasing Never
We spin around.
Peter.
There’s an arrogance in his posture, but I don’t believe it. There’s something off about the way only one of his wings flicks that gives away his discomfort.
“I take it you’re not here to visit an old friend.” There’s curiosity in Peter’s voice, but an accusation as well. He glances down at my hand, where my wedding ring glints in the moonlight, then back up at my cheek—at my Mating Mark. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet.
“I see congratulations are in order,” he says.
“Let’s not pretend that you’re coming in peace,” says Maddox.
Peter crinkles a single brow at him. “I’m not coming anywhere. The three of you came to me.And I assume it’s not because you wanted a glimpse of the half-fae, half-machine,” he says, rolling both his eyes and his shoulders, the adamant wing clicking as he does.
I can’t help but think that if Charlie were here, she would be fascinated by its mechanism, how it manages to allow him to fly despite its weight. She would have all sorts of questions about whether he’s able to control it with his mind. And if so, how? And if not, where does he hide the trigger? How does he control it?
Does he control it?
An irksome skepticism rises within me when I think of the ringmaster.
The four of us are quiet for a moment until Peter taps his foot impatiently and speaks again.
“Well? What is it that you need? We all know you wouldn’t care to see my face again unless it was dire. You’re not hurt, are you?” He’s looking me up and down. When he swallows, it’s thestrangest sensation—watching the genuineness of care he still feels for me slip across his face.
I feel no draw to him, despite him possessing part of my Mating Mark. He must feel the absence, because he glances toward Nolan, toward the Mark blooming out from under his shirt.
Peter doesn’t ask what has happened. He simply waits.
“I’m not sure what all you heard in the garden,” I say.
“You mean after I passed out from the pain?” says Peter. “No. I’m afraid I heard nothing.”
“The Sister had taken Nolan, so I summoned her back.” I pause, realizing this isn’t entirely true. But I don’t want to bring the Nomad into this. Something tells me giving Peter more information than he already has is an unwise decision. “I made a mistake, Peter.”
There’s something in his shoulders that lifts. He steps forward, ever so slightly.
Too late, I realize he thinks I’m referring to my choice between him and Nolan. Nolan’s hand comes to rest behind my shoulder blade, a gentle reminder to be careful.
“Darling here,” he says, “was put in a precarious position. She gave up much to save me.”
“And I take it that whatever you bargained away, you now want it back?” says Peter.
“Yes. Very much,” I say.
“Forgive me if this sounds apathetic,” he says, “but why would I care? I’m not your husband, Wendy Darling. It’s not my responsibility to swoop in and save you from your troubles. Not anymore.”
“I don’t believe that what you did could ever be defined as saving,” says Nolan.
Peter stiffens, and I swallow. “We’re not here to antagonize you, Peter.” He glances away, staring off toward the large circus tent. I take in a breath. “Peter. She took my son.”
“Your son?” he says, forgetting for a moment to be distant. He snaps his gaze back toward me, eyes widening.
“Yes.”
I watch the calculations in his mind. The questions he needs to ask. “When did you give birth to a son?”
“Eight weeks ago,” I say.
I watch him do the math. Count back. From the time Peter discovered my bargain with the Nomad to me marrying Nolan was less than a month. From Peter’s perspective, the child could be his. It might be a stretch, but technically, the timing would have worked.
