Fierce as a Tiger Lily (Daughters of Neverland Book 2)

by Kendra Moreno

  The Lost have kept up their constant attacks, showing up when they think we least expect it. The problem is, we expect everything now. We’ve had no casualties since we sent for Wendy’s friends, but I know it’s coming. Coward that he is, the Croc never shows his face in the Tribe, but he sure has to Wendy. His obsession with the Sea Captain has not gone unnoticed by any of us, and I find myself looking closer at Wendy, too, in order to figure out the uniqueness hidden beneath her skin.

  Peter is noticeably absent again, as he is prone to be. He’s hardly shown his face since before the last big attack. No matter how many times I reach out to him with a letter, he doesn’t answer. I expected him to ignore the others. He usually doesn’t ignore me completely and that makes me worry.

  Captain Hook sits on a stump beside Wendy, his hand on his pistol just in case Tink decides to dive for Wendy. It’s silly, really. There is no way he could stop a Daughter bent on destruction, but I know Hook has it in him to try. He’d give his life to save Wendy, would do so without hesitation. I both understand how amazing that kind of love is and think it’s incredibly risky to feel so strongly. A vulnerability waiting to be manipulated.

  “Ugh! I just really want to rip—”

  “Enough,” I say, tired of the back and forth, and both Tink and Wendy look over at where I sit. I never have to raise my voice, not to them. My voice carries all the command I need. “Wendy’s people are coming.” I know that in my bones. I felt when she reached out, and I know that they will answer. “But time is different in every world. We have no way of knowing when they’ll come.”

  Tink raises her brow. “And what do you suggest, Chieftess?”

  I’d been thinking on it for weeks, have come up with an idea that none of them will like, but it’s the best idea anyone has come up with. I had run through scenario after scenario, picked apart plans, and I still come to one solution to our current predicament every time.

  “We all fortify together. One home is easier to protect than three. And then we will all be there for any attacks.” And I can come face to face with the Croc again.

  “I’m not leaving the Coven!”

  “I’m not leaving my ship!”

  Both Wendy and Tink launch into their own list of reasons that are entirely correct and yet wrong for the situation. I understand, somewhat, though not entirely. The Tribe moves with our whim, picking up camp and shifting on the island. We had done so less often lately, but it is still our way. For Wendy and Tink, the Coven and the ship are their home.

  “Pride,” I say, interrupting their argument until they drop into silence, “is a weakness.” I let those words hang in the air for a moment before I continue. “We die apart, or we fight together.”

  Tink shifts, and I can feel her considering the option, know the moment she realizes it’s true. We’re left with little options in the face of this newest threat, the Croc holding all the advantages, and so we need to adapt and overcome. We need to find a way to stop the power drain, to stop the Croc, and a thousand other things. We can achieve those together far quicker than we can having to take time to travel each time to meet.

  I know it annoys the Pixie when she speaks. “The Coven is the most fortified location.”

  Wendy narrows her eyes on the pixie, and I watch carefully. Will Wendy agree or will she fight for another option?

  “We already have fencing and protection in place against the Lost,” Tink argues at Wendy’s look. “We have plenty of housing that can be shared. We cannot all fit on your ship, Wendy, and the Tribe moves too often to be fortified enough.”

  It’s a solid conclusion, one I had already assumed would be chosen, but Tink has to be the one to offer it. None of us could suggest taking the other’s territory for our own.

  I know Wendy realizes the validity of Tink’s claim because she sighs and glances over at Hook. When he nods his head, also understanding, Wendy turns back to us. “I can see the value of joining together in the Coven to protect our people. As long as you’re fine with that option, Tink, then I see no problem with it.”

  Tink’s wings stay fully erect behind her, and for a moment, I wonder if she ever lowers the appendages. How exhausting it must be to always look so proper. Wendy mentioned seeing signs of strain in the pixie, but I have yet to see them. I trust Wendy’s instincts, though. She wouldn’t be a Daughter if she didn’t have strong powers the same as Tink and I, a fact the Pixie Queen sometimes forgets.

  “We should all move as quickly as possible. The longer we remain in three, the easier targets we are,” I murmur, turning to look over my shoulder. My Tribe is hidden in the trees further away, easily instructed to pack up our belongings and prepare to move. Most of our possessions are already packed, as I had planned for this very thing, but I know Wendy will take time to pack up everything they have on the ship. Luckily, none of them have too many belongings, having hardly anywhere to store them.

  My eyes drift towards the empty stool meant for another leader one who is needed if we’re to survive. Even with all his danger, he’s vital, and so, someone will have to go find him in his Hollow.

  “I’ll fetch Pan,” I murmur. He’ll be more open to me than he will be to Tink and Wendy. I know Wendy despises Peter, know she has every right to after what he’d done to her, but though she pities Peter, she doesn’t fully understand. Tink is Tink, and when her demand isn’t met, she will happily use force, and we can’t afford a war with Peter as well as the Lost.

  “Do you need us to go with you?” Wendy asks, clear worry on her face. I know where it’s birthed from. Wendy had seen Peter last, had seen the wounds that covered his body and the look in his eyes, but I’m prepared for the sight. Even if Peter is trapped in his darkness, I can offer to bring him out of it. No one is trapped there forever.

  I shake my head. “I’ve never needed help dealing with Peter and his shadows.”

  Wendy tilts her head, but she doesn’t ask. She won’t ask. But she suspects, and that’s dangerous enough as it is. Even if I was certain she was entirely, completely, and utterly wrong, it would be dangerous.

  But that’s the thing about Neverland. Once the thought weasels its way in, it’s usually there to stay.

  Chapter Three

  We split apart to ready our people, Wendy going to her ship, Tink to warn her Coven, but my people already know the plan. After I stop briefly to tell Bear what needs to be done, he takes over while I set out through the trees. Bear doesn’t offer to come with me. He knows I would’ve refused, knows it would be pointless. Neverland can’t hurt me—though that is a questionable assessment with the heart waning—and the Croc won’t dare touch me.

  As I split the forest of Neverland, heading for Peter’s Hollow, my eyes catch on a small bird fluttering in front of me, the tiny brown feathers unusually normal for our world. The closer I looked at it, the more normal it becomes, until I realize it doesn’t have teeth or some horrifying attribute to speak of. Which is odd all on its own. Neverland doesn’t have birds that can’t cause harm.

  I pause and tilt my head, studying the creature that chirps in agitation. Small, innocent black eyes meet mine.

  “You better be careful, peopeo. Most everything here has teeth, including the trees.” As if my words will it so, one of the trees snap out a branch toward the bird, but the little thing is fast at least, and manages to escape it, darting away on agile wings, but the panicked chirps it makes will call other creatures toward it. I’m tempted to save it because the tiny creature obviously isn’t from Neverland. It’s unusual to see something so innocent here, but there isn’t much I can do. I hold up my hand and, as if the bird senses I mean it no harm, it lands there, its little chest pumping far too fast. “You’ve found yourself in a strange place, little beast. But I do have a safe place for you if you care to listen.” When it tilts its head, I turn in the direction of the Tribe and Coven. “There’s a little girl named Aniya who speaks to your kind. Find her, and she’ll protect you.”

  The bird doesn’t
hesitate. Its wings lift it into the air, taking it towards the little girl who calls all manners of creatures. Hopefully, it’ll make it to her without being eaten first. The chances are slim, but if the bird is smart, it’ll keep moving. The second it lingers is when it’ll be in danger most. I’ve done all I can for him, so I turn away, and step over a fallen tree.

  I continue toward the Hollow, needing nothing besides instinct for direction. I don’t need to see the stars to navigate, not after being here so long. The only thing I need is the tug in my heart and the instinct in my veins. Even without the powers of a Daughter, one only needs to follow the silence to find Peter.

  I’d tried to send a few letters to Peter over the past month, but he’d ignored every single one. I expected it, but it still angers me. He could have at least answered, even if he never intends to show his face. Even if the-man-who-never-wanted-to-be-a-man doesn’t want to speak to me, he will have to. I will not go away, otherwise. My fingers touch the headdress perched on my skull to make sure it’s in position. If it comes down to it, I can be very persuasive.

  The Hollow comes into appearance seconds later, the large black-barked tree a stain on the land around it. I’ve always hated the gruesome tree the Hollow is carved from. I’ve always hated that it serves as a sort of prison for Peter. The feeling of the tree is worse than anything. Because I can speak to the land, because I can hear their whispers, I can hear Peter’s tree murmuring, too.

  Feed me with blood, Daughter. I hunger.

  I ignore it as I always do, and I feel its agitation.

  The red crystals that climb up the side of the tree and scatter the ground give the appearance that everything has been splattered with blood, just as the tree asks. It makes sense, considering the man the magic leaks from, but it still isn’t any easier to stare at it. Peter has always been a strange mixture, moments of humanity mixed with too much mischief. As a boy, he was worse, but as a man, the darkness has clawed its way deeper.

  It’s harder to do bad things when you suddenly grow a conscious.

  I keep my feet safely on the edge where the crystals end, my eyes catching on the skulls planted on stakes around the perimeter. The crystals that decorate them give them a wholly evil aura, one that my people don’t dare mess with. We have legends, and some of them deal with Peter, but the skulls scare my people more than the man who created them does. The magic it took, the evil it took, to create such weapons, well, it doesn’t bode well for anyone who comes face to face with the creatures they become.

  I scan the Hollow, searching for any sign of Peter. I know he’s there, watching me. I can feel his eyes, but he’s just as clever at hiding as we all are. He won’t come unless I find him.

  “Peter,” I call, my eyes tracking along the branches, searching, searching. He’s here somewhere, and it takes me seconds before my gaze snags on a particularly dark section of the tree, one I can’t see the depths of. “Pan.”

  “What do you want?” he croaks from the darkness, and the irony isn’t lost on me that our positions were once reversed, that I had once asked him that question. The shadow shifts, far larger than the boy I’d met long ago. Peter was always a handsome teenager, when we were both sixteen and still thought we would never grow up, but as a man, he’s striking, even with the pain he now wears in his eyes. If only he would come down so I can see him.

  “I’d like to talk to you. Will you come down?” I stare at the shadowed spot, knowing he’s staring right back at me, and when I lean to the side, the light catches on his eyes, flashing the green stars.

  “I don’t think I want to.”

  I sigh and look at the skulls circling the Hollow. I can take them—as a fighter, I’m one of the best—but doing so will drain Peter, a fact he has never told anyone else. I only know because of our games, and because he finally admitted it when he had no other choice. The magic in Peter’s veins leaks out of him in different ways, in the crystals that coat the ground and the tree, in the way the skull creatures come to life. It’s a curse and a blessing, because though it makes him powerful and a major power in our world, it also puts him at risk. He hadn’t cared to worry about consequences when he was younger. Now, he’s struggling, and I have no desire to add to his struggle, not if I don’t have to.

  “We’re moving everyone to the Coven and fighting as one rather than three. We need you there with us, Peter.”

  Peter hasn’t shown his face since before the last battle with the Croc. He never came to fight, has never offered an excuse or reason why he left us all to die. I haven’t encroached on him, letting him try to figure things out on his own, but Peter still hasn’t come forward. He isn’t healing or accepting the new world, and that’s dangerous. We need Peter to fight with us.

  “Peter,” I murmur, holding my position. “I need you to come down.”

  The man I address drops from the branches seconds later to land with a crunch on the crystals below. He hits the ground with far less grace than normal, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s because of the injuries. There are cuts and gashes along his thighs and arms, some of them deep enough they still leaked blood. They aren’t stitching back together like they normally would, which tells me everything I need to know. Wendy was right about Peter.

  Still, I ask, “Have you been attacked?” I know the answer, know what’s happening, but I won’t say it. I can’t.

  “The only foe in the Hollow is me, Lily.”

  Too brilliant green eyes meet mine, tortured eyes. Since the first time we came together after aging, Peter has still grown, his muscles straining against clothing that finally fits. His bright red curls tumble over his forehead, giving him the roguish appearance he lacked as a teenager. A short beard runs along his jawline, some magic keeping it short and well-kept even if Peter could hardly be bothered to upkeep himself. I can’t imagine Peter shaving, can’t imagine what a disaster such a simple action would be for him. And the scars. In Neverland, I’ve never scarred from a wound, but Peter, he’s covered in them, in new ones.

  I don’t take a step forward. I wait.

  “Come with me to the Coven, Peter.”

  “I don’t think I will,” he murmurs. “What good am I, as I am?”

  I swallow, searching for words that will help, but not finding any. “Neverland needs you,” I try.

  Peter shakes his head, his fists clenching at his side. “Neverland wants to swallow me whole, Lily. That isn’t the same—”

  “I need you,” I correct, interrupting him. I hold out my hand when his eyes snap to mine. “Peter,” I whisper. “Take my hand.”

  If he takes my hand before I step across the crystals, the skulls won’t come to life, and we can have a conversation. But Peter just stares at my outstretched palm and then looks up into my face. I sense his answer before he speaks, and something inside me twists.

  “I’m not coming,” he admits. As I watch, a new line opens across his forearm, new blood drip, drip, dripping down to the blood red crystals, solidifying the moment they touch. He didn’t raise his hand to his arm, hadn’t carved the line with his fingers. No, the wounds are caused by his mind.

  “We need your help.”

  His lips curl into a snarl at my words, revealing the savage man I know he can be. “You don’t need anything from me, Lily.” And then he starts to turn.

  “Peter, take my hand,” I try again, sensing that I’m losing him.

  “No.” His back is to me now, his posture intent on escaping inside his Hollow.

  “Take my hand!” I growl, because I’m frustrated he won’t give me a chance to help, that he won’t take the help I’m offering.

  “I said no!” he snarls, whirling to face me, his expression twisting into a creature so masked in pain, I almost take a step back. I’ve never seen Peter so lost, so defeated, and it scares me. What is Neverland without Peter Pan?

  “Neverland is going to die if you don’t help.” My hand still hovers in the air, outstretched towards him, willing him to take it
.

  For a moment, Peter doesn’t say anything, and hope fills me that he’s considering taking my hand, but I should have known better.

  “Then let’s hope I die with it,” he whispers, and turns away again.

  His steps crunch along the crystals, but when he reaches his hand for the door, I take a step forward, the crystals crunching beneath my feet. A green haze swirls around the skulls and Peter’s shoulders tense. He knows I’m tempted to come after him, knows that it would make him weak, but I would never steal his consent, not if I can help it.

  “Aniya is around five now, after two months,” I say, my voice quiet.

  The tension in his shoulders tightens further. “Why should I care?”

  “I just thought you should know what’s at stake, what will happen if you turn your back on us, who all could die.”

  Peter hovers in the doorway, my words seemingly echoing around the clearing, ringing back to my ears. Finally, Peter looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes meeting mine briefly.

  “I never wanted to grow up, Lily.”

  My chest tightens at the anguish in his words, at the unadulterated torture. “But you have,” I point out. “And there’s nothing left to do but face it. We can face it together.”

  “You’re wrong,” he chokes out. Another line opens across the back of his shoulder, staining through the leather there. “I could rot with the rest of Neverland and no one would know the difference.”

  “I would,” I whisper, my hand shaking just the slightest bit. I’ve never shaken, but seeing Peter in such pain, so collapsed in on himself, is something I thought I’d never see. I want to help him. I want to show him how to get out of the darkness when necessary, but he’s refusing to let me. “I would notice if you were gone, Peter.”

  But he only stares at me with hollow eyes a second longer before he shoves open the red door and disappears inside the deepest shadows, leaving me standing there at the edge of the Hollow.