Wicked as a Pixie (Daughters of Neverland Book 3)

by Kendra Moreno

  “Will you come somewhere with me?” His hand drops away from my chin, the hand I hadn’t even realized still touched me with how comfortable I was with it, and offers it for me to take instead.

  “I really shouldn’t. . .”

  “Trust me, Pixie,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling with his smile. He’s so full of life, of spirit, that everything inside me revolts against snuffing that out, but against my better instincts, I reach out slowly, and place my normal hand in his.

  I put my trust in the man who talks down monsters.

  Chapter Four

  Atlas leads me around my home and to the trees on the edges of the Coven. We don’t have to go outside the barriers apparently, for whatever it is Atlas plans to show me. It’s smart, making sure we’re still protected inside the walls, but I’m curious to what exactly he can show me that I’ve never seen before. Where could the Berserker be taking me?

  “Wendy told me about your green room,” he says, leading me further into the trees. “About how it helps you.”

  “The earth offers healing, yes,” I murmur. I don’t know how to explain that having my feet in the soil and being around living plants revitalizes me in different ways than simple immortality. Technically, it should be Tiger Lily so in tune with nature, but I’ve always been that way. I don’t know if it has to do with being born from the soil or some other sort of magic, but my green room, being surrounded by plant life that I coaxed into being, that I take care of, such life, it makes me feel whole. “Where are you taking me?”

  “It’s just through the trees. We won’t even have to leave the Coven,” he reassures me, glancing over into my eyes with a smile. “Just trust me.”

  “I hardly know you.”

  He pauses, something ticking in his jaw when he looks at me again. “I can fix that, if you’ll let me. “

  I hesitate. This has ‘bad idea’ written all over it. Cal’s angry face flashes in my mind, the way she watches me as if she knows what I feel. What if I hurt Atlas on accident? What if the Wonderlandians decide not to help us because I hurt him? I will be dooming our people if that happens.

  “I can see you coming up with every reason to say no,” Atlas whispers, moving close. His hand is warm in mine, but it’s the fingers that gently touch my cheek and come away glittering that hold my attention. “Why not think of one reason to say yes?”

  “My people come first.”

  “We would never leave you to die.” He frowns. “Is that what you think?”

  “If I hurt you. . .”

  “Ah, you’re worried we would leave Neverland to die if something were to happen to me.” He nods in understanding. “You don’t know us very well, so it makes sense you’d think that. But I can reassure you, none of us would willingly leave Neverland without helping you first.”

  “How can you say that?” I wrinkle my nose. It’s what I’d do, if either Wendy or Tiger were hurt in another world.

  “We aren’t cruel, and neither are you.” He winks. “You can’t hurt me, Your Majesty. Stop thinking you will.”

  I choke. “I nearly murdered you not five minutes ago.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “But I nearly did!” My voice raises with the words and I grimace, looking around to make sure there’s no one around us. “Atlas, I’m not some pixie from your storybooks. I’m vicious, dangerous, and a nightmare. You can’t look at me and hope to convince me otherwise, not when five minutes ago, I was looking at your pulse and wondering what your blood tastes like.”

  For a second, he doesn’t say anything, staring deeply into my eyes, and then he cracks another smile. “I bet my blood tastes like spicy chicken wings. I eat a lot of those.”

  I scoff, and against my better judgement, I can’t hold the small chuckle that slips out. “You are so frustrating,” I grumble. “We’re having a very serious conversation.”

  “We are. Now I’m curious though. When you drink my blood and leave me rot out here in the woods, you know, all that murder stuff, you gotta tell me what my blood tastes like. If it doesn’t taste spicy, I’m going to be extremely disappointed.” I roll my eyes, but against my better judgement, I smile. “There it is,” he murmurs, smiling gently at me. “I was starting to wonder if you liked me better as a meal.”

  “I can’t even comprehend what makes you tick, Berserker,” I murmur, staring at his brilliant eyes. They should have been dark, but around the edges, there’s a silver line that gives him an otherworldly look, a hint at his powers under his skin.

  He tugs me again, leading me into the trees a little further. “I already told you,” he teases. “Spicy chicken wings.”

  This time, I don’t try to stop the laugh from spilling out as Atlas leads me through the trees, but when we step into a small clearing in the middle of the trees, it fades away at the sight before me.

  “What is this?”

  Atlas pulls me into the center carefully. “I found it yesterday. I thought you might like it.”

  I stare in wonder at the different blooming flowers in the center of the ring, flowers that have never grown in Neverland before. They’re in all different colors, a literal rainbow painted in a dark spot of Neverland, untouched by anyone.

  “This one,” Atlas points to a large red bloom climbing up the side of a tree. “It’s a rose. We have them in my world.”

  “It has thorns.”

  He nods. “Yes, but they’re regular old thorns. There’s no poison or teeth to these ones.”

  Slowly, he settles down in the center of the blooming clearing, careful not to smash any of the flowers, before patting the space beside him. I stare at him for a moment, at the way his muscles strain even while he’s relaxed, at the crooked smile that tugs at his lips as he waits for me to make a decision. Atlas is far different from anything I expected. He’s so different from Neverland, so full of life, it makes me want to both wrap him in a bubble and hide him away. I’m both intrigued by him, and afraid for him. Life is so easy to snuff out here.

  “Are you going to sit down or stare at me until you make me spontaneously combust?”

  I blink. “I didn’t realize I was staring so intently,” I admit.

  “Well, I can’t blame you. I mean,” he grins, “look at me.”

  I shake my head, fighting the smile on my face, before I move closer and take a seat beside him. “You’re so full of life,” I murmur, looking over at him. As close as we are, it puts me at the distinct advantage of smelling his aroma, a scent of wilderness and something else, something a little spicy. I’m almost tempted to tell him that just to see his smile, but I save it for another time.

  “I’m alive.” He shrugs. “Why shouldn’t I be full of life?”

  “That’s not what I mean. I meant you’re so. . . lively.”

  He bumps my shoulder with his. “I knew what you meant. I just like messing with you. There’s no reason you can’t be lively, too, Pixie.”

  I can feel the smile fall from my face with his words, my shoulders tensing hard. I move to turn away, to soak in the earth through my feet, to bask in the flowers Atlas brought me to, but his fingers on my chin keep me from looking away completely.

  “Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

  His eyes are sincere and the emotion swirling there nearly does me in. I’ve never seen anyone look at me so. He hardly knows me enough to care, let alone stare at me with such a gorgeous gaze. “You shouldn’t touch me.”

  He raises his brow. “Do you not want me to touch you? If not, I’ll stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop, but I’m a Queen, a dangerous one.”

  “And?” His thumb strokes my skin, moving to cup my face, and it’s dangerous because I like it.

  I narrow my eyes. “Why aren’t you more scared of me, Atlas? What are you getting out of this?”

  He snorts. “What am I getting out of this?” His hand leaves my skin and I mourn the loss even though a second ago I told him it was a bad idea. H
e leans away. “You think I’m talking to you with some ulterior motive?”

  He braces his arms on his knees and tilts his head back, his eyes closed to absorb the scents of the flowers surrounding us. Though there’s no light from a sun, the way he sits, there’s almost a glow around him, and I’m not sure if it’s because I want to see that or because of the power in his veins. He’s beautiful, but even though I like him, there’s always the urge to hurt him there, the urge to hurt anyone, though it’s less when he’s around. For a second, I study him, really study him. He’s large and muscular, but even if he was lean, he’d feel larger than life. His shoulder-length black hair is almost always tousled around his face, though sometimes I’ve seen him with it scrapped back from his face with a tie. He almost always looks relaxed, even if there’s coiled tension beneath his skin. He’s beautiful, golden, and feels a little pure compared to me. Someone with as much light as he has shouldn’t want anything to do with my darkness.

  He talked you down from a bloodlust.

  I twitch with the voice in my head, but I can’t listen to it. What if the next time he can’t? What if I rip him to shreds? How would I feel one day, blinking the red away, only to realize my hands are buried inside his chest cavity? The image makes my breath stutter and I shake it away quickly.

  “I think you’re pure, and I’m the opposite of that,” I whisper.

  “So you think that means we can’t like each other?”

  “I’m dangerous.”

  “So am I, Pixie. So what? Why does that have to matter?”

  “Just stop,” I growl, getting to my feet. My wings flutter dangerously at my back in warning.

  Atlas follows my lead, standing, a god in the middle of a bunch of flowers. His hair swirls around him, wild, beautiful. “Stop what?” he growls. “Stop speaking the truth? Stop looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? Stop what?”

  “That!” I turn and start walking away. “Stop all of it. I can’t—”

  “What are you afraid of?” he asks, and I pause at the edge of clearing. “What has you so scared that you can’t even look at me?” I choke on the words I want to say, remaining silent as the image of Atlas drenched in blood by my own doing flashes across my mind again. “You never stuck me as a coward, Pixie.”

  My instincts are screaming at me before I know what I’m doing. I whirl, my wings carrying me back across the clearing far faster than he should have expected, but I keep forgetting Atlas has his own powers, too. He braces himself to catch me, his hands splayed on my waist, but the force of my attack sends him backwards, landing on his back in the middle of the flowers, until I’m straddling him and baring my teeth down at the Berserker.

  “I’m no coward,” I hiss, grabbing his chin and tilting his head to the side, easy to strike.

  “No,” he murmurs, meeting my eyes even with his head turned to the side. “But you’re afraid.”

  “I could kill you.”

  “You could try.” His eyes narrow. “But don’t forget I’m something other, too, Pixie. You may think I can’t hold my own in a fight, but I’m stronger than I look.”

  I smirk at him, even with my sharp teeth. “And yet here you are beneath me.”

  His muscles bunch, and quicker than even I can follow, the world tilts and I find our positions reversed. I stare up at the Berserker in surprise, nestled between the flowers, my wings gently pressed against them.

  “How—”

  “I’m not fragile, Pixie,” he growls, his hair framing his face as he looks down at me. “I’m not helpless, so your argument is invalid. Unless you can look me in the eyes and tell me you want nothing to do with me, and mean it, I’m gonna keep hanging around.” His knees spread around my hips and I can feel fire spread from my core at the position. I’ve never felt this way, like I could be overpowered, and the fact that it’s by the one person I know would never treat me that way only heightens my desire. Gods, how I want him. I want him so badly it hurts, even if everything inside me screams not to.

  I stare at Atlas, at the depth in his eyes, and even though I’m the Pixie Queen, even though I’ve been alive for too many centuries to count, I melt. “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?” His arms brace around my shoulders, his muscles bunching with his weight. Though he’s pinning me to the ground, I know the second I make a noise of discomfort, he’ll move. He’s careful not to lay his weight on me, and I know it’s because he’s being conscious of my wings. Though they’re gently pressed into the flowers, he doesn’t want to accidently bend them the wrong way.

  “Why would you keep hanging around?”

  “Is this a trick question?” He grins. “Or are you fishing for a compliment?”

  “I’m being serious,” I chide.

  For a moment, he doesn’t speak, staring into my eyes. I let him, enjoying the feel of him over me far too much. I should be worried. Atlas is clearly stronger and faster than I gave him credit for, clearly more dangerous, but something about that actually puts me at ease.

  “When I look at you,” he murmurs, “something tells me to move closer. Something pulls me toward you, like a magnet. When I try to look away, my eyes always stray back to you.”

  “Maybe it’s just because I sparkle?”

  He laughs, the sound deep in his chest, and I want him to keep doing it. “Maybe.” He tilts his head. “But why not explore it and find out?”

  “If I end up biting you, I don’t want to hear you complain,” I murmur, reaching up and placing my hand over his heart. Though his shirt separates our skin, I can still feel the way his heartbeat skips, still feel his heat.

  “That’s the thing, Pixie,” he murmurs, a smirk pulling at his lips. “If you bite me, I’d probably want you to bite me again.” He sits up and pulls me with him, helping me to my feet. “If you think I’m asking you to be gentle or less dangerous, you’re wrong. I’m not asking you to change who you are.”

  I frown. The way Atlas moves is casual, no sense of the power in his veins at all, and I think that’s the most dangerous trait of all. His personality, the liveliness I complimented him for, it’s all a trick. That’s who he is, sure, but the power in his veins? How has no one recognized the beast there?

  “Let’s head back,” Atlas murmurs, cocking his head to the side and smiling. “Can’t have anyone thinking we’ve been up to no good. Not that I care, but I figure you might.”

  As he leads me back through the trees, I decide not to tell him there’s some sparkle on his skin, some stray bits of pixie dust catching in the low light. Everyone will know he’s been around me, and though it goes against what he just said, I keep my mouth shut.

  I kind of like the idea everyone knowing I claimed him.

  Even if I haven’t. Even if I can’t.

  But there’s nothing wrong with thinking about it.

  Red spots dance at the edges of my vision, but I blink them away quickly, and let the Berserker lead me back to the Coven.

  Chapter Five

  ATLAS

  Tink and I walk back to the Coven together, apart but walking close as we pick our way through the trees. Every so often, I find myself glancing over at the pixie who somehow walks through the trees without catching her wings on the branches. She glitters; no matter what light she’s in, she glitters like magic. I can’t bring myself to think of her as anything but beautiful, even if she’s so convinced she’s a monster. Something inside me wants her. Everything in me demands I get closer to her, and I’ll happily do so. Damned all the consequences.

  After our meeting in the woods, after being so close to her when she straddled me, and again when I straddled her, the feelings have only grown stronger. If it weren’t exactly what I planned, I’d be worried. Instead, I have the urge to keep teasing Tink until I can hear her laugh again.

  “Do you shrink teeny tiny?” I ask, grinning over at her.

  Her brow furrows. “What?”

  “In our stories back home, you’re really small
most of the time, like a bird, and mostly fly around annoying people. You also stay with Peter Pan all the time.”

  Even mentioning Peter makes me sad. I hadn’t known him, not in any way—he hadn’t allowed us to know him—but I’d sensed his darkness the same as everyone else. I’d witnessed his sacrifice, his words he spoke to Tiger Lily. I can’t imagine loving someone so much and knowing it’s pointless. And the little girl, Aniya, who wears her father’s stars on her shoulders like a cape, has no darkness to speak of, not yet. It’s difficult not to wanna wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her safe.

  “Not a single thing about that has truth to it,” Tink says, rolling her eyes. “I could probably shrink if I wanted to, sure, but why would I want to? And stuck with Peter all the time? We had a brief interlude at the beginning of Neverland and that was it.” She glances at me, as if to see if it’ll bother me. It doesn’t. Her past is her past; I’m only concerned with her future. “Are there any stories of you?”

  I grin. “No. I’m not written in any of the Wonderland stories, but Cheshire is just a cat with a big grin in them. White is just a rabbit in a waistcoat.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Tink glances at me. “The ones who write the stories aren’t very creative, are they?”

  “They wrote them more for children. They had to take out all the blood and gore I assume.” I shrug. “Besides, who wants to read about an asshole Cheshire cat and a Flamingo that isn’t completely flamingo? I guess they write what people want.”

  We fell back into silence, walking slowly through the trees, and it isn’t until we step over another tree, that I realize we’re purposely moving slowly to prolong our time together. I reach out with careful fingers and grab Tink’s wrist, halting her. She looks down at my hold and then back up at me, her brilliant pink eyes shining in the dark.