Wicked as a Pixie (Daughters of Neverland Book 3)

by Kendra Moreno

  I release Peter and tumble backwards into the soil, panting, the tips of my fingers singed with power. I bury them in the soil even as my wings droop, even as I can’t seem to rub the light from my eyes.

  Peter turns over and barely holds himself on his elbows, his muscles shaking with the force of the Shadow being ripped away. When his eyes meet mine, the black tendrils are gone, leaving behind the achingly clear blue. “Thank you,” he rasps, his elbows giving out until he’s on his chest in the middle of the plants, no strength to life himself again.

  “You’ll need rest,” I pant, shoving my hair out of my face. “You can stay in this room until you’re able to move again.” I struggle to my feet. “I have to, I need to go put myself back together.”

  Peter’s eyes close against his will, his energy used up during the ripping away of the Shadow, but as I stumble from the room, I shake my head to clear the images still lingering there, but they don’t go away.

  The skulls of the Lost splattered with blood. Red crystals crawling along my skin. Black tendrils tunneling into my heart.

  I shake my head again, but the images stay, no matter how much light I push against them.

  The screams of my enemies as I shred them. Blood dripping down my face. Red tinging my vision until it’s all I see.

  I barely make it to the washroom before the contents of my stomach come barreling up my throat. I quickly wash it away, so no one sees the inky blackness in the mess. No one can see the bits of Shadow I somehow devoured while ripping it free from Peter. No one can see the weakness.

  I retch again.

  Later, when I return to the green room, composed, it’s to find Peter standing and staring at a large bloom I’d nurtured from a decaying plant.

  “I don’t want to be evil,” Peter murmurs. “Not completely.”

  “It’s too late for that, Pan,” I answer, opening the door for him to leave. “We’re all monsters here.”

  He turns and walks up to me, and when he holds out his hand to give me something, I open my palm. He drops a tiny golden thimble there, a sign of a favor owed, and I clench it tight. “You’re right,” he admits, and there’s something in Peter’s gaze I’ve never seen before, emotions I’ve never noticed there. “But I want to determine what makes me a monster. I don’t want to be a puppet on a string. And neither should you be. When the time comes, when you need the favor owed, I’ll come.”

  He starts to walk away, and I follow him with my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me, Peter?”

  He looks at me over my shoulder, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he disappears out the door.

  I don’t see him again for at least a year. The same length of time it takes to clear the Shadow completely from my system.

  But the memories? They stick with me, just like the inky tendrils that once wrapped around Peter’s soul and squeezed.

  Chapter Seven

  I’d already been checking the heart three times a day, checking for fluctuations, any waning power, anything out of the ordinary. But each time I check the heart, the power is less, and so I find myself checking the heart more and more, anxiety twisting my heart.

  Today alone, I’ve been in the cave six times.

  I stand before the heart, knowing I’m going crazy, but I have a single job in Neverland: keep the heart healthy. And I’m failing at that. Somehow, the Crocodile went beneath my nose and figured out how to start the process, how to drain the heart, and I still can’t figure out how. There are no signs of disturbance, no signs he’s ever been in the cave at all. How is he draining the power without never having seen the heart?

  Placing my hand against the large crystal, I let the warmth soak into my skin, absorbing it even while I push some of my power towards it. As usual, it doesn’t work. Nothing ever works. I growl in frustration when I taste the stars that hadn’t been there before Peter’s sacrifice. He’d given his stars for us, and we’re still stuck on this rock, helpless, no further along than we’d been before. If it wasn’t so sad, it’d be frustrating. If we never make it off, if we never make it to the door, Peter sacrificed himself for nothing.

  There’s more at stake now than just us.

  My mind flashes to Aniya, to a child who shouldn’t be here, the first child born of Neverland, a powerful child. She’s going to grow up into a powerful creature, made of stars and wildness as she is, but if we don’t get off this world, she’ll never get the chance.

  I place my hand against the red crystal again and close my eyes, pushing power towards it, but it doesn’t even seem to recognize my power anymore. It’s as I focus there, as I try my hardest to save us all, that the happy thoughts come slamming into me with enough force, I stumble.

  Gasping, I clutch at my chest, doubling over with the sudden pain as happy thought after happy thought floods my mind.

  Do you take this woman as your wife? I do!

  Te amo, bebé.

  Happy birthday, baby girl!

  Dropping to my knees, I drag great lungfuls of air in, attempting to stop the thoughts that make no sense. These aren’t happy thoughts from Neverland. I don’t understand them at all, and so many of them are in different languages from anything I’ve ever heard. These taste different from Neverland happy thoughts, and if it wasn’t so dangerous, if my vision wasn’t bleeding with red, I might have studied it closer. Instead, I focus everything I have on pushing back the bloodlust, on conquering it, but it doesn’t feel like it’s working.

  I grunt with my exertion, but it’s a battle I’m losing. My claws lengthen and I dig them into the soil of the cave quickly, hoping it’ll help. My teeth sharpen in my mouth, a few pricking the edges of my lip.

  “No,” I growl, struggling against it. If I go into bloodlust now in the cave, there’s no telling what I’ll do, who I’ll hurt. “No.”

  “Tink?”

  Whipping my head to the side, I find Atlas standing just inside the opening of the cave, his posture as casual as always. His hair is pulled back today, making his jawline stand out in sharp relief.

  “Go away,” I growl. I can’t hurt him. I have to protect him. But if he stays in the cave and I descend into bloodlust, I’ll rip him to shreds, Berserker, or not.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I said, ‘go away’!”

  More happy thoughts slam into me and I grunt with the pain of it, pressing myself against the soil, drawing on the strength of the living plants, but the cave lacks them. I start to shake, and the next time I look up at the Berserker, he’s tinted in red.

  Atlas strolls into the cave like I’m not a monster fighting a transformation on the floor of a cave and takes a seat in front of me, crossing his legs like a child. I track him with my eyes, following his movements, and when I move a little closer toward him, I can feel how unnatural my movements are. I’m no longer Tink; I’m the predator.

  “You know,” Atlas says, completely unconcerned with my movements, a smile still on his face. “I used to think the most dangerous thing I could do was ride my motorcycle without a helmet. I used to bug Cal to get me my own motorcycle. Girls like guys who feel like bad boys, and what better way to look like a bad boy than a leather jacket and a Harley?”

  I watch him closely, holding still. “Harley?”

  “It’s a brand of motorcycle. An expensive one at that. You know what doesn’t fit into the bad boy mold though?” He smiles. “Helmets. What sort of bad boy wears a helmet? That’s what I told myself when we went home from Wonderland and Cal got me my own motorcycle. I was eighteen at the time, driving down main street to go pick up a girl who thought I was the ultimate bad boy. I wasn’t. I went so far as to put fake tattoos on my arms in an attempt to impress her, but she didn’t care who I was as long as I looked like the worst decision to her daddy.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I growl, moving a little closer and baring my teeth.

  “I’m getting there, Pixie. Patience.” He smiles and I pause again. “Anyways, here I was, traveling down main street, f
ake tattoos on my arms and a leather jacket that was too new to be sexy. I’m already immortal at this point, but I don’t really know that. None of us knew what effects Wonderland would have on us. All I cared about was picking up the girl and getting lucky. Hell, Cheshire even gave me advice for it.” He shrugged. “But I thought the most dangerous thing was riding a Harley without a helmet and I did it anyways.” I hardly breathe as he continues his story. “The truck came out of nowhere. When I heard the report later, it said he ran a red light, but I don’t really remember what colors the lights were. All I remember is riding my Harley, going to pick up a girl, and then waking up in the back of the ambulance before it ever took off.”

  “You healed?”

  Atlas nods. “I healed before they could ever get me away from the scene. I healed a cracked open skull. I healed too many broken bones. And worse, they’d thought I was dead when they loaded me into the ambulance. Instead, I probably gave the EMTs nightmares when I sat up suddenly, perfectly healthy, and asked what in the hell they were doing.” He chuckles. “I thought the most dangerous thing was not wearing a helmet. Turns out, it was other people finding out that we weren’t exactly human.”

  I move closer. “What did you do?”

  “We didn’t really have a choice. We picked up everything we’d ever known, packed our things, and moved cities. Cal had to leave the mechanic shop she built from the ground up. We left the house we grew up in. Cheshire helped, but the whole time, I kept thinking, ‘if I’d have only worn a helmet, none of it would be happening’. Regardless, I was labeled in the newspapers with the words ‘miracle’, ‘inhuman’, and my favorite ‘monster’, and people started showing up at our doors, dangerous people, and so we disappeared for a while.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I ask, frowning, my muscles relaxing.

  “Because I needed to tell you a story to calm you down,” he grins. “And I just picked one. Want me to continue? I can tell you about the disaster of trying to throw Cheshire a surprise party. Turns out, the cat isn’t a fan of balloons.”

  I laugh, and this time, when I move closer to Atlas and sit beside him, I feel like myself. The happy thoughts are in check again, and when I glance down at my fingers, no claws tip them. We sit shoulder to shoulder, our skin barely touching as we stare at the pulsing red of the crystal heart.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, looking over at Atlas. “I don’t know if I’d have been able to push it back.”

  “Is it because of the heart?” His eyes stare into mine intently, studying my face. We’re close, close enough that all it would take me leaning forward to make a bad choice, but I try to focus on his eyes. “Is that why you’re struggling with your power?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve been trying to slow the decay of the heart, but it isn’t working. I’m useless here, and whatever happens, I’m useless there, too.” My face twists. “Who am I if I’m not a Daughter? Who am I if I’m not a Queen?”

  “You’re still the Pixie Queen, whether you’re in Neverland or somewhere else,” he murmurs, taking my hand. He doesn’t seem to care that they’re covered in soil when I’d buried them. “But you can be whoever you want to be. When we leave, you can choose any world you want, be anyone you want to be.”

  “I don’t know who I’d choose to be if given a choice.”

  Atlas’ hands around my waist catch my off guard but he moves quicker than I track before my world shifts and I find myself straddling the Berserker’s lap on the dirt floor of the cave. My fingers curl around his shoulders to steady myself, my wings flaring wide behind me. “What are you doing?” I hiss, trying desperately to not think of how good the man feels beneath me.

  “I have a suggestion,” he says, grinning up at me. His large fingers span my waist, sending warmth through the almost sheer fabric of my dress.

  “Oh?” I raise my brow, waiting.

  “You can come to Wonderland with me.” His eyes sparkle. “You could be mine.”

  My heart throbs in my chest as I stare at Atlas, at the mostly ordinary eyes with the ring of power around them. His muscles stand out in sharp relief even though he’s relaxed. I brace myself against his shoulders, but I’m tempted to do more, to explore.

  “Would you be mine in return?” I murmur.

  “I’d be whatever you wanted me to be.”

  Atlas’ fingers move along my waist to the small of my back, pressing my core against the hard length suddenly beneath me. I suck in a breath at the feeling, battling my inner turmoil to keep from having my wicked way with him on the dirt floor of a cave.

  “You must have a death wish to keep propositioning me,” I whisper, but my fingers slide along his shoulder and curl into the nape of his neck before pulling the tie from his hair and running my hand through it. I didn’t realize I’d like so much hair on a man, but perhaps, I just like everything about Atlas. He lets me do it, no sound of complaint coming from his lips.

  “Don’t you feel the pull between us?” he rasps. One of his hands moves to cup the back of my neck, pulling me down until our foreheads touch. “Tell me you feel this, too.”

  “I feel it,” I admit. “But that doesn’t make it a good idea.”

  “Does it have to be good or bad? Can’t it just be?”

  My lashes flutter open and I’m looking into vibrant eyes, powerful eyes, as he looks at me in return. Need slams into me violently with so much force, I lean back warily. When his hand reaches up to touch my cheek, I grab him quickly by the wrist, holding him before me. And then I press his hand against my face and rub, but my teeth sharpen before I can stop them and I’m nicking his wrist a second later, a drop of blood welling. I had no conscious thought to taste him. I didn’t make the decision, but the moment the blood drop beads on his skin, hunger fills me, both for blood and something else. I place my lips over the wound and suck and Atlas groans in pleasure.

  “Fuck,” he grunts, his fingers at my hip, bunching in the dress there. “If I’d have known this is what it felt like for you to bite me, I’d have volunteered sooner.”

  “It’s a predator thing,” I murmur against his skin, running my tongue there. “You’re less likely to run if it feels good.”

  “Well, it’s working,” he pants. “I certainly don’t wanna run. If anything, I wanna bite you back.”

  I lick one more time along his skin and lean back, meeting his eyes. “I’ve never been bitten before,” I muse.

  When Atlas’ teeth snap at me, teeth that are far sharper than normal, I blink in surprise. I’ve never seen him change any part of himself, never seen a transformation, and I’m not prepared for it.

  “What’s wrong, Pixie?” he goads, his voice thick with gravel. “You have sharp teeth, but you shy away from anyone else having any?” He leans forward and presses his lips against the column of my throat, against the black lines running there, and my breath stutters.

  “You can change?” I rasp, threading my hands into his hair and clenching there.

  He pauses for a second but continues trailing his lips along my skin, moving to my collarbone. “I don’t know,” he admits. This time, when he leans back, his eyes are a swirl of colors mixed together, but in every color, there’s desire. “The most dangerous thing isn’t the helmet. It’s what happens after.”

  “Am I the helmet or the after?”

  “You’re both,” he murmurs. And then his lips claim mine in a savage kiss that takes my breath away.

  There’s no gentle coaxing, no insecurity. I’m kissing the Berserker back just as feverishly, tasting him, my fingers wrapping in his hair. I grind against the hard length beneath me, ramping up the desire tenfold. One of Atlas’ hands splays against my ass, pressing me harder against him, but the other stays wrapped around the nape of my neck, controlling, and I don’t even care. I want more. I need more.

  But this isn’t the place for that.

  We’re sitting on the dirt covered floor of the cave, the heart pulsing behind us, where anyone could walk
inside and see us. Atlas apparently has the same thought because he breaks the kiss, leaving us both panting as he wraps his arms around my waist and leaning his head against me.

  “You taste like glitter,” he murmurs against me.

  I chuckle. “You taste like spicy chicken wings.”

  For a beat, he doesn’t make a sound, surprised, but then laughter flows from his lips, and the sound that bounces around the cave is so pure, I wish I could bottle it. When his eyes meet mine, they’re full of the laughter, and he’s beautiful like this, so full of life. I’ve never been like that, not once, but Atlas makes me want to be.

  “I knew it,” he laughs. “It was the only believable option.”

  Slowly, I unfold myself from his lap to stand, offering my hand for him to take. He doesn’t hesitate to thread his fingers with mine, letting me pull him up. “The others will probably wonder where we are,” I murmur.

  “Not like they won’t know when you make me sparkle every time I touch you,” he teases. “There’s no hiding it, apparently.” I grimace, but he stops us and cups my chin. “I’m not complaining, Pixie. I like it. I think of it like you marking me even if I sparkle like I’m going to a rave.” He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “And I like the idea of you claiming me a lot.”

  “You’re something else, Atlas,” I murmur, and when his crooked grin tugs at his lips, I roll my eyes. “Don’t let that go to your head, though.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs, but I know it has. The Berserker knows I like him against my better judgement. “Come on, Pixie. Let’s get out of this cave.”

  We leave the heart behind, the pulsing just a hint slower, but I know I’ll be back to check on it again, to see if anything has changed. The more it ebbs, the more in danger we are.