Page 15 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 15

I frown, confusion washing over me even as my vision returns. I’m on the floor of the cave, propped up against the wall. Peter’s crouching before me, running his thumb over my Mating Mark.

“What happened, my Darling little thing?”

Instinct more than reason has me choking out a lie. “I must have gotten dizzy and fallen.”

Peter examines me. At first, I have little hope that the lie will land, but as my senses return to me, I remember that Tink didn’t lay a hand on me to injure me.

“You were probably dehydrated. I didn’t give you anything during our flight, then didn’t think about it when we got back home.”

I hate how he thinks I’m a child who needs reminding when to drink water. I also hate that he’s right. Groaning, I offer him a lazy, half-hearted smile. “I won’t be making that mistake again.”

Peter doesn’t smile back. My gut tenses.

“Wendy Darling.” His eyes are shimmering. “What were you doing wandering down here?”

I shake my head, feeling the back of my skull roll against the cave wall. “Just that. Wandering. You know me—I have to move to clear my head.”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Peter’s eyes flash. It’s there one minute and gone the next, but there’s no mistaking the realization he’s just made.

My counterfeit Mate chooses his next words carefully. “How long does it take for a walk to clear your head?”

I shrug, but it’s too exaggerated. Too casual to be real. “It doesn’t do as much as I want it to, to be honest. It just makes me feel like I’m doing something.”

Peter stares at me.

Fear lances through my gut. “What?”

“Simon used to say he was going on walks to clear his head.”

I let out a dismissing huff. “Yes, well, Simon wasn’t being personally dosed with faerie dust by you.” It comes out wrong, too resentful. Peter shifts on his feet, then slowly stands to his full height. When he stretches out his hand, I’ve no choice but to take it. My muscles scream in protest as he pulls me to my feet, then into his chest, his hands splayed against my back, stroking me possessively.

“You know I only want what’s best for you.”

Don’t cry. Don’t let the tears spill onto his chest. Don’t let them give you away.

“Of course, I know that.” My voice betrays me with a drunken warble.

Peter takes my jaw in both his hands. Tilts my face up so I have no choice but to look at him. “We can’t be telling each other lies.”

“I’m not lying to you.”

Peter frowns. “I know the shadows can be persuasive, Wendy Darling. Seductive, even. But they don’t care for you. They don’t wish for your well-being.” He actually lets go of me, leaves me shaking with fear and cold in the middle of the cave as he takes a step back. He’s running his fingers through his hair, pacing relentlessly, worrying at his lip. When he turns back toward me, there’s mourning in his drooping, boyish eyes. “I really wanted this to work, Wendy Darling.”

For just a moment, the naive girl in me is stupid enough to think he means us. But then his fingers find the drawstring of the pouch at his side, and my heart wilts in my chest. I take a trembling step back.

He catches it, my fear of him, and wrinkles his brow. He reminds me of a parent about to give their favorite child a paddling. “I really wanted you to be able to wean down,” he says, shaking his head. Like I’m the one who’s disappointed him. “But clearly, you can’t be trusted to stay away from the things that wish to hurt you.”

“Peter, please.” I’m holding my hand out, palm facing him. Like I think I have any chance of fending him off. I don’t even have a weapon.

Hurt flashes across Peter’s face, like I’m the one who’s broken our trust. That doesn’t stop him from stepping forward. “Come here, Wendy Darling. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I shake my head frantically. It’s more of an act of self-control than I thought myself capable of, with the desire for faerie dust creeping up my throat. But I’m so afraid of never hearing Astor’s voice again.

“Please, help me.”

Peter thinks I’m speaking to him, and nods sympathetically.

“No, I’ll be good, I promise,” I say. “I don’t…I don’t want to go back to being her.”

“I’m afraid we’ve no other choice, Wendy Darling. We have to keep you safe.”

As he approaches, I will myself to fight him. I’m unsure if it’s that I’m not strong enough to resist the bargain, or if it’s the faerie dust cravings that have me folding into Peter’s arms in the end.

Either way, the only protests I’m able to summon are incoherent pleas and childish whimpers, before Peter presses the dust to my tongue and I forget why I ever wanted it to be any other way.