Page 23 of Caging Darling (The Lost Girl #3)

CHAPTER 23

I search everywhere for Victor. I start in his rooms but he’s not there.

Neither is his crossbow.

Nausea has my mouth watering. Panicking, I run my fingers through my hair, my palms clammy against my face.

We’re going to be stuck here forever. Victor is going to die at Peter’s hand, and I’ll never leave.

Tink will leave with Michael. She’ll get him out of here if we don’t return. I told her that if I we weren’t back in an hour to put Michael in the boat and get him out of Neverland.

I find little comfort in that.

Placing my hand on my chest to steady myself, I consider where Victor would have gone. Probably to wait out Peter in his room. I race down the tunnels, thankful when I don’t encounter any of the Lost Boys.

I almost burst through the door, but the thought of an arrow pinning me to the wall has me knocking on the door gently. “Hello,” I whisper through the keyhole.

There’s a shuffling inside. Footsteps approach. I expect the door to crack open just barely. Instead, it flings open, a hand grabbing me and pulling me into the room while the other covers my mouth. I kick, but Victor’s voice against my ear quickly settles me as he closes the door behind us as quickly as he opened it. “It’s just me, Winds. What are you doing here? I told you to take Michael and leave.”

He releases me, and I spin to face him. Sure enough, there’s a crossbow propped beside the door. He must have set it down before grabbing me. Victor glances at it, following my line of sight, then picks it back up and aims it at the door.

His throat bobs.

“You were supposed to wait for us. We were supposed to leave together,” I say.

Victor shakes his head. “That was before we knew there was a second boat.”

“He’s going to kill you.”

“Not if I kill him first.”

I tug at the hair framing my ears. Take a steadying breath. “It’s not worth it, Victor.”

“He’s the reason my father is dead,” Victor snaps. For a moment, I say nothing and allow Victor’s words to hang between us. He winces. “And the reason John’s dead. I can’t live with myself, knowing that killer is still alive.”

“We’ll learn,” I say.

“No.” Victor snaps his head toward me. “You’ll learn. You know why? Because you have someone else to live for. You have Michael, someone to take care of. I don’t…” His breathing becomes labored. “I don’t have anybody. My father, Thomas. I don’t have anyone.”

I shake my head, taking a step toward him. When I place what’s meant to be a comforting hand on his shoulder, he shudders. “You have me. You have Michael. Don’t you see that? We’re not leaving without you.”

Victor’s bloodshot eyes bulge. The looks he gives me over his shoulder is one of pity. “I know you want to believe that.”

I frown. “Why else would I have come back?”

It’s brief, but his gaze flits to the crook of my elbow.

“I shouldn’t have left a note,” he says.

It hits me then that I had to come back. That I can’t choose Peter while allowing someone to plot his murder.

“Victor, I?—”

He watches me grapple with the truth, or, at least, attempt to untangle it. “I care for you,” I insist.

“I know you do, Winds,” he says, his voice cracking. “I know. You just can’t help it. But once he’s gone…”

Anger wells up within me. Of all Peter’s taken from me, this hurt is different. That I can’t even be good, do something selfless, and be confident my intentions were pure.

Still, it’s clear Victor isn’t going to be swayed by my pleas. So I take a different route. “Your father was crying. He wants you safe. He cares nothing about you avenging him.”

Victor’s lip trembles. “That’s not Father you’re speaking to.”

I shrug. “Maybe not. But it’s how he felt when he died. He just wanted a life for you.”

Tears slip over the bags underneath his eyes. Trembling, he lowers his crossbow.

“You can still get the others out,” I say. “Smalls and Benjamin and the Twins. I know you care for them.”

Victor shrugs, uncomfortable. “They won’t listen to me,” he says.

“But they’ll listen to me.”

He shakes his head. “No. No, you have to get back to Michael. I’m not letting you miss your chance to get out of here.”

My heart hurts, but I know he’s right. I grab a notebook from Peter’s bedside table, scribble a note inside, then rip out a page and hand it to him.

He glances at the note, at the lie I’m willing to tell the boys to get them off this island—that Neverland is unraveling, and Peter’s gone on ahead and has instructed us to follow. Victor nods, then looks up at me, renewed purpose in his eyes. “Meet you on the beach?”

I nod, and then Victor is gone.

The reaping tree has just deposited me at its base when I hear my name called from above.

“Wendy Darling?”

My heart stops in my chest.

“Where are you headed off to, my love?”

Slowly, I crane my head upward to face him, hoping I’m giving myself enough time to school my features. He’ll be able to hear my heart racing with those fae ears of his, so whatever excuse I come up with, it’ll need to be a reasonable explanation for my accelerated pulse.

“Peter? I thought you were off on a mission?” Thankfully, my bargain keeps my voice sounding relieved to be wrong, though my heart feels anything but.

“This was a quick one,” he says with a sly grin. The bulbs of light from the reaping tree’s trunk radiate upward through the branches, casting leafy shadows across his sharp cheekbones. “Now, don’t go avoiding my question. What are you doing out here?”

“I was feeling anxious,” I say, choosing my words carefully. Peter cocks his head at me from the shadows of the tree canopy. “When you told me to keep myself from dying, I think it made me realize I needed to be healthier. Take better care of myself. It’s been a long time since I went for a run. I know the stress isn’t good for me, so I thought running would help.”

Peter watches me from the branch on which he’s perched for what is probably seconds, but feels like a lifetime. “That sounds like a good idea. But it’s dark. Why don’t I come with you?”

There my heart goes again. I don’t miss the way his ears flick at my increased rate of breathing. “I seem to remember a time when you said running wasn’t any fun.”

He jumps to the ground, landing without a sound, then steps out from the shadows. “I agree. Which is why I’m not taking you running.”

Panic swells through me. Please don’t take me from Neverland. Please don’t take me from Neverland. Not on a mission. Not yet.

“Does that excite you?” he asks, approaching me and placing his hand on the corner of my jaw, where my heart is racing. “Or does it frighten you?”

“Is it so bad if it’s a little bit of both?” My laugh comes out nervously.

Peter smiles, but I can’t tell if it’s out of pleasure or not. When he takes me by the hand, I have no choice but to follow.