Peter shot up, whirling around, from behind the rock where Hook had pinpointed him. There was a thrill in his veins as Hook dove headfirst into the water, swimming powerfully for Marooner’s Rock. The hateful energy buzzed around him, so much so that none of the mermaids lurking in the deep even bothered to come after him.
When he came up for air, there was a great deal of splashing and commotion. A horde of Lost Boys (and one girl, whose presence momentarily befuddled the captain) had appeared from nowhere, and had set upon Starkey and Smee while he was under the water.
But when he saw Pan on the rock, the commotion faded around the captain. He slid up onto Marooner’s Rock; everything there was amplified. The grit against his fingers, the cold spray of the water against his torso, and the breath of the Pan, assaulting his ears, echoing, taunting, pounding as he climbed.
The rock was slippery, and he put out his hand to steady himself as he stood, waiting for the boy to come out from behind it. He was consumed with hatred, and so felt no guilt or fear or anything that usually accompanied his plots to murder the child. He brandished his shining hook and grinned, lying in wait.
Pan leapt up, standing at the top of the rock, and, before Hook could think to react, Peter darted out and grabbed Hook’s knife from his belt. The color drained from Hook’s face. Peter smiled, toothy and gleeful.
Pan raised the dagger, and Hook was assaulted with a memory of long ago, when he’d witnessed that first murder, Peter killing the pirate. The look out of Peter’s eyes was the same now, and it set him to trembling. Hook shook so hard that he lost his balance, and fell to the edge of the rock.
The boy had the marked advantage; there was no denying that. Peter dove through the air, Hook’s own dagger in his outstretched hand. Hook shut his eyes, fear freezing his limbs, and waited for the kill. But the hot slice of the blade did not come. Instead, he was met with Peter’s hand clasped around his, helping him up.
Hook paused for a moment in utter confusion. Guilt flooded through him, and rage, and hate, and several other things he could not put a finger on. Peter had a sense of fairness that was endlessly frustrating when it came to the business of hating him.
No. Hook hardened. Peter had already robbed him of too many things. The boy would not rob the pleasure of revenge from him as well. He drew his hook back and plunged it into the boy’s hand, flinching slightly when the blood oozed out around the metal. Peter cried out, and his eyes widened. Hook pushed past the guilt and focused on the rage, and he cried out in anguish and anger mixed, barely sounding human. He slashed out at Peter, landing his hook in a leg, catching it on a rib when he thrust it upward. The rip when he pulled it out of Peter’s side nauseated him. Curse Neverland’s wicked hold on everyone there. Stabbing Pan felt as though he was plunging the hook into himself.
Peter fell to the rock and stared up at the sky, bleeding in several places, saying nothing. Hook tried to ignore the ache that shuddered through him at the prospect of Peter’s death.
Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock.
Hook froze and tore his gaze way from Peter. He whipped his head around, panicked, searching frantically for the crocodile. When there was nothing there but the awful sound of the clock, he dove instantly into the freezing water, forgetting Smee, Starkey, Peter, the Lost Boys. None of that mattered now.
Hook’s breath fled him as the water prickled around him, and he swam furiously for the shore of the lagoon, but he felt as though he was moving through slush, skin burning, every stroke too weak, too slow. The sound of the clock shuddered through him, from his ears down to the tips of his toes. The mermaids were cold and laughing at him, taunting him, cruel voices echoing off the cavern walls, bouncing off Marooner’s Rock. They giggled and splashed, hoping to see the croc turn the lagoon red with his blood.
He scrambled up to the shore and stumbled, then ran, soaking and freezing and terrified, hair flapping in damp ringlets behind him. Black leaves scratched and stung him as he ran past, but he could barely feel the barbs.
His lungs and muscles burned agonizingly, begging for him to stop. He realized, then, that he could no longer hear the tick-tocking of the clock. So, in the middle of the meadow that he had shared with Tiger Lily, he collapsed. The croc wouldn’t come there, to their place. He could feel it in his bones. It was too far inland. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, and clawed at the earth, face down in the dirt. And he tried not to think of Tiger Lily, or of the crocodile, or of dying, bleeding Peter Pan.
THIRTY-TWO
WHEN HOOK AWOKE, HE WONDERED BRIEFLY IF HE was a boy again, and he looked around, influenced by the haze of sleep, for Peter. He hadn’t woken on the leaves since a morning long, long ago. And so, he was back in time for an instant, the sweet vanilla taste on the air still a wonder, searching for Pan and the Lost Boys and pondering if the breakfast he would receive would be real or imaginary.
Dead leaves stuck in his hair, and they made his scalp itch as he sat slowly up. He froze when he saw the woman sitting a few feet away from him, staring off into the trees. Reality came flooding back to him, and he was a man and the captain once again.
Tiger Lily was crying, and her hair was tangled, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Had she been there all night? He stood up from the ground and shivered, then walked over to her and knelt on the ground. He reached his hand out and cupped her face, then turned it up toward his.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, voice rough with sleep, and the lack thereof.
“Since early this morning.”
He ran his thumb along her cheek, and she closed her eyes, turned her face away, and stood. He frowned but chose to ignore the odd gesture.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, standing with her.
“Not entirely.”
“I know yesterday did not exactly go according to plan…”
“Not exactly.” She laughed, but it was hollow, tired.
It was too warm outside, and Hook rubbed at his arm nervously, trying to focus on the weather and not on the unsettling strain in Tiger Lily’s face. “It wasn’t me who gave that order, Tiger Lily. I swear it,” he said, the first note of pleading already in his voice. “If he told the men to release you, whatever it was he said that made you go, it wasn’t me. I wasn’t turning my back on you. You know I’d never—”
“I know, James,” she said, raising her gaze to meet his and running her hands under her eyes, drawing tear stains across her cheeks. “Peter can fool a great many inhabitants of this island, but not me. I know him too well.”
James frowned and shifted backward, crunching against the newly dying leaves on the ground, a hard discomfort in his throat. Why had she said it was Pan’s voice she knew so well, and not his? He closed the distance with a breath of desperation and rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers.
“And you know me. You know I would never leave you. I never want to let you go.”
She stared up at him, and her eyes said that she agreed. So, he breathed out heavily, relieved, dropped his shoulders, and brought his fingers to her jaw. Then he pulled her face in to kiss her. Before their lips met, she pulled back.
“I cannot do this.”
“What?” A breath of panic whispered through him.
“I—I cannot do this, James. Run away. With you.”
Hook shook his head quickly. “I don’t—Why?”
Tiger Lily looked away from him, into the shadows of the trees. They were black and grey and brown, and she was fixated on them. It was a gesture that frustrated him endlessly. She refused to ever look into his eyes when she did not want to say a thing. But, she turned back to him, and then he wished he hadn’t seen her eyes at all. They were dark and pained, and they grew that panic in him greatly.
Her voice was very quiet when she asked, “Did you come after me when you saw that I was gone?”
Hook was silent. Fear. Cold fear was all there was.
“Come, James. You want me to answer your questions? Then you a
nswer mine. Did you come after me?”
“I—I was attacked, Tiger Lily.”
She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “That is not entirely true.”
“It is; I swear it.” He reached for her hand, and she snatched it back.
“I saw you in the lagoon. When you sailed in and saw that I was missing, how long did you spend just waiting there before Peter sprang out at you?” The warm wind blew strands of her hair up and around her face, making her simultaneously beautiful and threatening.
Hook choked. “I didn’t know it was him. I had to know who gave that order.”
“I don’t believe that for a moment. The things he shouted at you. Wonderful, marvelous, clever boy—anyone would have guessed it was him. I know you. And one thing you are not is stupid.”
Hook opened his mouth to protest, then shut it, backing several steps away from her.
“You heard us?” he said, frowning. “And saw it all. Where were you, Tiger Lily?”
She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, as she always did when she was feeling defensive. “Just outside the lagoon, hiding in the grasses.”
“You were that close and you said nothing?” His voice rose. “You allowed me to believe you’d vanished? Why?”
“I—” She choked, and strode toward him, face red and slick with sweat. “Do not change the subject, James Hook. Perhaps I was hiding, but you were attacking Peter rather than looking for me.”
The panic and the anger and the puzzles were overwhelming now, making it impossible to think. He had no decent response, for however unreasonable were her actions, what she was saying of him was true. The entire time in the lagoon he had spent worrying about Pan, thinking about how best he could kill him, infuriated that the boy would throw a hitch in his plan. Not once had he thought of the woman he loved.
“You do not care about me,” she said in a low voice. “Not as much as you care about Pan.”
“That isn’t fair,” he said, pleading with her, muscles in his neck straining.
“It’s the truth.”
Hook struggled to breathe, to think clearly. “I love you, Tiger Lily.” He took a step toward her. “More than I hate Pan. More than the Spanish Main. More than breathing. I’ve always loved you. You must know that.”
“I question it.”
She walked several paces away from him, near the edge of their clearing. The distance was suffocating.
“Tiger Lily, please…”
“And I saw you yesterday, fighting with Peter on the rock. You stabbed him and you slashed at him. A boy, James.” Her voice was high and clipped, and she gestured wildly when she spoke.
Hook slammed his hook against the nearest tree. Then he pointed at her, hand trembling. “Do not toss that in my face. After everything he’s done? To me? To my family? To the Lost Boys—to you, even. He is a cruel, wicked thing. You’ve always known I’d slice that boy up if given the chance.”
Tiger Lily shook her head. “I didn’t know you would truly do it.”
“I’m a pirate, Tiger Lily. Of course I would do it.”
Her nostrils flared, and she clenched her hands into fists. Something clicked in Hook’s head, then.
“That isn’t what it is, is it?” And he took several long strides toward her.
“What?”
“You’re not leaving me because I didn’t prioritize you or because you doubt that I love you. You’re leaving because of Pan.”
Tiger Lily’s face darkened. “How dare you.”
A muscle twitched in Hook’s jaw. “How dare I what? Accuse you of somehow still being in love with Peter? You and I both know it is true.”
“Do not make this about me,” she said, her voice low, on the verge of growling.
“How can I not? It’s the truth, isn’t it? Where were you when I was battling with that boy up on the rock?”
“I told you. Watching from the grasses.”
“Why?” he said, hand gripping her shoulder in fear, hook pressed flat against the other. He pulled her in to him, heat from her radiating onto his skin. His pulse quickened.
“No, James. This is not about me.” She shook, and Hook’s nostrils flared at the evasion. “The truth is that you are so consumed with hatred for Peter Pan that you can never truly value anything else,” she spat.
Hook’s voice raised by several decibels. “And you, Tiger Lily, are so enchanted by him that you cannot love the man who would bring you happiness.”
“That is not true.”
“It absolutely is.” He let go of her and took a step back. They stared at each other for a tense moment, the air between them hot with fury.
“You cannot stand the thought of me spilling his blood because, in the depths of your soul, no matter what I say, or what I do, or what I make you feel…” He touched her, just below her throat, and let his fingertips slide up to the back of her neck, delicately twisting them in her hair. Tiger Lily shivered slightly. He closed his eyes and took his fingers back. “None of that matters, does it? Not when you’re under Peter Pan’s spell.”
Tiger Lily said nothing; she just stared boldly into his eyes. Of that small thing, he was appreciative.
“Why now?” he said, something breaking deep in his soul. “Why not before you kissed me? Before you gave yourself to me? Before you told me you loved me?”
Tiger Lily drew in a shaky breath. “Because, yesterday, in the lagoon…” she paused, eyes shining with pain. Hook almost did not want to hear what she would say. “Yesterday, he came for me.”
Hook’s jaw dropped open. “He came for you? He rescued you? You were never captive to me!”
“I know that. I know. But Peter didn’t. He risked his life for me. That’s why—that’s why I left.”
Hook could barely draw in enough breath to speak. “And what? You believe he loves you now? You truly think that he came and ‘rescued’ you from my ruffian hands because he wants to be with you?” He could feel blood rushing to his cheeks, to his ears, in fury.
Tiger Lily bit her cheek and looked at the trees.
“Do not turn away from me again, Tiger Lily.” She clenched her jaw, stared down at his mouth. “Look at me. Listen to these next words, for they are the words you will hear over and over again for the rest of your life if you walk away from me now. You will be haunted forever by them because you’ve chosen to surrender your heart to a heartless thing.”
She waited for a beat, then looked up into his eyes.
“He will never love you.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
“Pan is incapable of love. He fought for you in the lagoon because he fancied a war with a pirate. You will never be with him, Tiger Lily. That I can promise you.” His words were as rough as his voice, and they dripped with the sort of venom that can only come from terrible pain.
She let out a defeated breath. “I’m sorry, James.”
“If you would just leave this place with me, if you would go off onto the sea, you would be free of him.”
A small tear slid down Tiger Lily’s face. “I will never be free of him.”
“Do not act as though you have no choice in this. You could leave all of it behind; you know it as well as I. If you would just go with me, I swear to you his hold over you would break. If you would just come away from this cursed island.”
He was desperate now, saying anything that popped into his head, true or not, to get her to stay. He was quivering with anger and hurt and deep, biting fear. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his chest. He could still feel the electricity between them, the want deep in her, making her fingers shake against him.
“I could make you happier than you’ve ever been, Tiger Lily.” His voice was low and gravelly. He drew her closer and brought his lips to her ear. “I would love you forever.”
She did not speak for some time, and Hook’s pulse was racing, erratic and hard. Then, she pulled away from him.
“You lied to me,” he whispered, his face a mask o
f pain.
She stared at him, eyes welling up, red and wet.
“You swore to me that you didn’t come to me that night because of Pan, that you wished to be with me regardless of him. That you loved me. But now that you believe he cares about you, what we have means nothing.”
“And you didn’t lie to me?” she said softly, staring up at him.
“What?”
“You promised you wouldn’t touch him. Because of me. Because we don’t know what would happen to his dreams if he died. You risked my life, James. For him.”
His mouth went dry. He had nothing to say.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shutting her eyes, and she walked slowly into the shadows, swallowed up by the still, colorless trees.
Hook stood in the empty clearing, head just slightly bowed, waves of hair hanging into his face. He stood there like that in the void for a while, blinking, in disbelief. Perhaps this was all another dream. Perhaps in a while, he would wake, and Tiger Lily would be lying warm against him in his bed, dreaming of forever. This was, he knew, more than unlikely. Here, in Neverland, it was impossible.
Hook was paralyzed, not knowing where to go, if he should stay in the clearing, if he should go after her. But, after his racing thoughts calmed, he made the decision to head to the Spanish Main. There, he could drink a glass of dry red wine and sit at his desk and think.
He was numb as he made his way back to his ship. His ship. The Main was still his, despite his foolish promise to Starkey. It rose before him, smooth and powerful and more beautiful than any woman. He stalked aboard, eyes furiously alight.
Smee said, “Capta—” but Hook slammed the door to his cabin before the man could finish. Then, he sat at the desk and took a bottle from one of its drawers. It was crimson liquid, seductive and lovely. He stuck his hook in the cork and removed it, then watched as the wine slowly drained from the bottle into his glass.
Face carefully expressionless, he lifted the glass and inhaled, letting the sweet, pungent smell overwhelm his senses. He brought it to his lips and let the velvet slide down his throat. When he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the alcohol as it warmed him, he could see nothing but her. And he snapped.
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