Page 118 of Chasing Never
Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I can hardly breathe. “Peter, please. Please. If you ever loved me, if there was ever a part of you who felt anything for me at all other than lust… Peter, I know, Iknowthe things you said to me that night in the inn room. I know part of it was true. And I know it kills you to see me hurt. If you ever loved me, please. Just help me.”
Peter’s breath fogs the air. Slowly, he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. He watches me carefully, a silent question in his eyes. When he finally speaks, his voice has lost that apathetic quality. “If I help you,” he rasps, “will you believe it, then? That I truly did—truly do—love you?”
Again, I can’t and won’t lie to Peter. But I nod, swallowing. “In the way you know how. I’ll believe that.”
He scans my face for a lie, but when he finds none, he glances back and forth between me and Maddox, and then Nolan.
Nolan opens his mouth, clamps it shut, then tries again, clearly sensing that Peter is on the precipice. “I remember you when you were a boy. In fact, that’s still the Peter I think of when I think of you. I don’t know—I can’t pretend to know—what it did to you, having someone else’s Mark placed upon your body. I shouldn’t have asked that of you. It was never my intention for it to hurt you.
“But Peter, I remember. I remember the other boys flocking to you. I remember the day the warden had me place the brand upon your back. How afterward, I thought you would hate me… but instead you came and reached out your hand and welcomed me into the fold. We were all just lost boys. You found me in the closet, in the corner.
“You found the others, too. They flocked to you. I never could connect with them like you did with the younger ones. I didn’t know how. But with you, they felt safe. I always admired that. You hated the warden for what he did to you… but I think, more than that, you hated him for what he did to all of us. And as you grew, as you aged and became a man, I watched you hate him even more. I watched you protect them.
“I know that we are no longer friends. I know that my decisions ruined your life. That they broke something within you. So if not for me, please help my son. He’s just another little boy taken away from his home, handed over to the hands of a predator. Please,” he says, and my husband’s voice cracks.
There are no tears in Peter’s eyes. Just a somberness I’m not used to witnessing. They glaze over, as if he’s remembering things from his past. Things he suffered at the hands of the warden. Things he saw other boys suffer.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll help. But Astor,” he says.
Nolan looks at him.
“Double-cross me,” says Peter, “and I will ruin you.”
CHAPTER 52
“How will you get out?” I ask Peter as he leads us toward the front of the carnival tent.
He gives me a quizzical look.
“I’d heard carnivals like this,” I explain, “if it’s anything like the one Tink was a part of, I figured it would be difficult to leave.”
Peter gives me a knowing smirk. “I’m not a slave here, Wendy Darling. Though it’s cute that you would think that.”
“Peter,” says Nolan, a warning in his voice.
Peter smirks. “When I came to work here, I made an arrangement with the ringmaster. It wasn’t difficult to see how I would quickly become profitable for him. It’s been profitable for me too. There are the royalty shares for the shows, not to mention the wing. It’s really quite impressive what they can do nowadays.”
“So everyone here gets paid?” I say.
Peter winces, which is enough of an answer.
Just then, there’s a commotion coming from near one of the tents in the back.
“That would be the ringmaster’s tent,” says Peter.
Indeed, after a few moments, the ringmaster comes running out, shouting, his voice incoherent from the distance. Although, by the way the ears of the three fae around me perk, it seems they can understand him, even if I can’t.
“One of the others has escaped,” says Peter.
“I thought you said they weren’t slaves,” I say.
“I said I wasn’t a slave,” corrects Peter.
Frustration mounts in me. And after a few short moments, an alarm horn sounds over the carnival.
“Oh,” says Peter.
There’s a clank in the distance, and when I whirl around, I see that the gates into the fortress area have been closed, guards stationed next to them.
