by Dee Garcia
“I don’t want to find something else,” I argue frustratedly, hands balled into fists. “The front is modest. Why do you insist on treating me like a child? I’m a woman who’s fully capable of making decisions for herself and I like—”
“Listen to your mom, T,” Persia insists, shooting me a look I know well as N’Isabelle jumps up to greet her approaching form. “It’s pretty, but there’s much prettier options, and in a more flattering color, too.”
Frowning at her choice of words, I spin back toward the mirror and regard myself. “What’s wrong with emerald?”
Persia shakes her head. “Nothing at all. It’s just too…”
“Dark for you,” mama finishes. “How about a blush pink or a gold?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Those are everyone’s go-to colors. I don’t want to look like everyone else, much less blend in.”
“What about this one?” N’Isabelle chimes in gleefully, tugging on a piece of teal fabric. “It’s like your eyes.”
“Ooohhh, that’s a good choice, baby girl,” Persia approves, drawing my stare to the pint-sized witch. “She’s right. That shade does match your eyes, T.”
“It’s not too revealing, either. The front left does have a slit, but the back is quite befitting,” Mrs. O’Malley adds, pulling the gown off the wooden rack for my mother to scrutinize.
N’Isabelle eyes her steadily as she does so, twirling a lock of ebony hair around her small finger. We all seem to watch her, too, but the longer my mom looks it over, the closer Izzy inches.
She has no regard for personal space and she doesn’t care. Always curious that one, has been since she was born almost six years ago, but then again what child isn’t?
My mother glances down at her, then at Persia and Mrs. O’Malley, and finally me. She doesn’t seem too fond of the garment, the curl in her lips a sure sign, but the subtle pout Izzy’s working softens her from one moment to the next.
Oh no she didn’t.
Sly little rascal.
At my giggle, Persia realizes what her daughter’s up to. Her brown eyes widen on a gasp and she leans down, whispering something in N’Isabelle’s ear.
I can’t even hear it, but I know what she’s telling her.
Izzy nods shortly thereafter and returns her stare—far more sheepish now—on my mother. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bell. I just wanted to see it on her.”
My mom couldn’t be more confused if she tried. Takes her a moment, and Persia’s subtle help, to grasp the point behind N’Isabelle’s apology. Even still, she smiles down at Izzy and drops to her level, reaching out for her little hand. “I can’t be upset. She has a true gift. Had you not pointed it out, I would’ve never noticed.”
Persia sighs, but I don’t miss the proud look she sets on her daughter. “She does it all the time. I’ve tried telling her she can’t just twist the mind as she pleases, there has to be a reason, but it goes in through one ear and out the other.”
“In her defense, she did have a reason,” I can’t help but say, to which Mama chuckles.
“Yes, you’re right. She did have a reason. Shall we let Tinksley try it on?” my mother asks Izzy.
The small witch nods in excitement and pulls both her mother and my own to the parlor chairs surrounding the platform I’m occupying.
I don’t know what exactly N’Isabelle did while she rummaged around my mom’s brain, but I have to remember to thank her.
Because I ended up leaving that shop with that dress.
And it truly is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen.
Hopefully, my dearest Peter will think I look as beautiful as I feel, too.
I won’t lie…
I’m nervous to see Peter.
Things have been rather tense and awkward since the night I left his home. He’s sworn up to the heavens and back that everything is fine, that we’re fine, yet it all seems anything but.
Regardless, I’ve made it a point not to bring it up to him. If he’s so averse to the mention of us leaving Rosewood, imagine what he’ll do if I keep pestering him about something he promised wasn’t an issue. The last thing I want to do is push him away further than I already have.
It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to make it through the week without opening my mouth once.
Not that I’ve seen a whole lot of him, really.
We have spent a few odd days together, but they’ve been more uneventful than not.
Still, in the midst of our unusual separation, he vowed he’d accompany me to N’Isabelle’s birthday as promised. Said he wouldn’t miss it for the world, that it would be his honor to have me on his arm.
Basically, all the things that make my heart flutter.
Things the entire island thinks I shouldn’t feel for Peter.
Knock, knock.
“Tinksley, honey,” my mother coos as she opens the door to my room.
Why she bothers knocking without awaiting a response, I’ll never know, but I plaster on a smile when our eyes lock in the mirror of my vanity and give her my attention. She smiles, too, genuinely, and saunters further into my bedroom, coming to stand behind me.
“You look beautiful,” she appraises from over my shoulder.
Not a rare compliment coming from her, but I blush nonetheless, inwardly beaming that she ended up agreeing to this dress.
“Thank you, Mama. So do you,” I answer, because she does.
In this fitted, royal blue number, the gold trim of her wings appear more luminous and luxurious than normal.
Her smile widens as she runs her hands down the front of her gown. “Thank you, darling. You know I usually lean more toward the lighter blues, but your father said I looked lovely in this one, and well...”
“He’s not wrong, Mama.” I blot at the rouge on my lips. “It suits you well.”
Our stares remain locked for a beat or two before she comes to stand beside me and gently plucks the handkerchief from my grip. My heart warms at the sight of us all done up like this while she sets about cleaning the edges of my lips.
We really do look so much alike.
Aside from my markings and the severe arch of my brows, I’m literally her carbon copy. It was one of my most favorite things when I was little—that I looked so much like my mommy.
“There, much better,” she says jovially. “More subtle and natural.”
I can’t argue. She’s right. My natural lips are full, just like hers, but now they look swollen.
Perfectly pink and kissable.
I’m sure that wasn’t her intention, obviously, but I have a feeling she’ll regret adding that teensy finishing touch to my make-up once she realizes I won’t be unaccompanied for the evening.
♫ Glad You Came - The Wanted ♫
I’m mid-conversation with Marlena, Aester—another piece of the Sacred Six—and my father when the sound of cackling laughter draws my attention to the other side of the room. Said cackles are coming from a few of my boys. At first, I can’t see what has them so entertained...until Assad and Emil step aside, granting me an unprecedented view.
I nearly drop my glass, my jaw falling slack.
Tinksley stands at the foot of the staircase, looking as exquisite as ever in this striking, form-fitting aquamarine gown. I could eat her alive right at this very moment.
That’s how spectacular she looks. Appetizing. Tempting. My mouth waters, cock pulsing at the indecent images flitting through my mind.
Until I see Pan firmly at her side.
Pan, who’s being eyed by everyone in attendance and mildly tormented by the brood.
A satisfied smirk plays on my face at his expense.
I know, I told the council civil amiability was expected across the board and yada, yada, yada, but that freak is a common enemy amongst the factions. The chances of anyone complaining about what’s fair or exceptions for my kind are slim to none. It’s clear by the sea of disgusted looks that no one wants him here, much less concerned with what happens to him.
So I let the boy
s have their fun.
If it gets out of hand, I’ll step in and break it up, but I don’t foresee that being necessary.
Pan will run, mark my words. He may be immortal, but he’s no match for a vampire, and he knows it.
He already has that pathetic look on his face as Kaz and Malik shove him around, Emil’s taunts growing louder in the background. As predicted, he whispers something to Tinksley, sets a seemingly reassuring kiss to her cheek, and retreats up the steps to the exit without looking back.
Without her.
That’s right, keep walking.
Poor Tinksley seems shocked, mouth popped ajar at the unexpected turn of events. And yet just as quickly, her expression flares brightly with anger. I’m not the only one who catches it, either; the boys do, too. Emil attempts apologizing on their behalf, but she squares up with him—toe to toe—mutters something through narrowed eyes, and then she’s off.
Speeding across the marble floors in full-blown outrage.
I’m moving before I can process it, practically shoving my drink into Cassius’ chest in my haste to get to her. A haste that is, apparently, inevident. At least three guests try to stop me despite the fact it’s very clear I’m in a hurry. Irritated, I jerk around them, nearly shoving them aside in the process of following her lingering scent.
The north wing balcony.
That's where she leads me. Overlooking the lush garden and miles of clear ocean waters, I find her storming around in ire, prattling on to herself about Pan. It’s kind of adorable and, all too soon, I’m stopping a foot or two away.
I don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Just listen and wait.
Can’t be more than a full minute before she finally spins around on a frustrated growl, one that morphs into a startled gasp at the sight of me looming so closely behind her.
“Jesus, Callan.” Hand glued to her chest, the speedy tempo of her heartbeat thumps in my ears as the echo of my name on her lips threatens to ruin my composure.
Very few people dare to address me by it, but coming from her—I like it.
Perhaps a little too much.
I chuckle. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She’s unconvinced. The look on her face says it all. “And yet that was pretty much a given when you snuck up on me.”
I lift both hands, give her a little shake of my head. “Wasn’t my intention, I swear it. I saw you run out here. Simply ensuring you’re okay is all.”
Tinksley considers my admission for a moment or two, sleek eyebrow arched in question. “Well,” she straightens out her gown, “while your...concern is appreciated, Captain, I can assure you I’m just fine.”
I cock my head aside. “You sure about that?”
“Positive,” she mutters.
“Didn’t seem that way when Peter left you without a glance back.”
Silence falls between us, save for the waves crashing into the concrete walls of the castle gate and various creatures chirping their nightly calls.
Her lips open, close, open, close—I watch her struggle to form some sort of a rebuttal. But it never comes. All I’m given is a lethal glare before she turns away and flicks her gaze out to the ocean.
The simplest of motions that nearly catches my breath.
God, she’s beautiful. I’m literally awed, unable to do anything except take her in beneath the glimmering moonlight. The defined yet delicate lines of her face, those long lashes, the pale hue of her hair, even those golden markings grazing her fair skin. She’s perfection wrapped up in a petite, supple frame, especially in that damned dress.
The bodice is eye-catching on its own, shaped almost like her wings, but it’s the slit showing off her leg that has me out of my right mind.
“Why didn’t you leave with him?” I blurt suddenly, barely containing myself from putting my hands on her.
Tinksley sighs and shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “He told me not to. Said I looked too pretty, that I’d taken all this time to get ready and he knew how much I wanted to be he—”
“He couldn’t be more wrong.”
Her face contorts in offense at my interjection. “Excuse me?”
I don’t even apologize, I just react. Three small steps and I’m embedded in her personal space, towering over her. My hands fly to her waist like a magnet drawn to its pair, reeling her in closer. “You’re far more than just pretty, Tinksley. You’re absolutely stunning.” The words slither off my tongue in a breath, caressing her cheek.
A small gasp meets my ears.
Goose pimples break out along her flesh.
Breaths almost erratic, she sets her small hands on my chest and peeks up at me beneath long, blackened lashes, eyes wide and uncertain. “Th-thank you.”
Shrugging, I flash her a sly grin. “Only stating the truth.”
Tinksley’s cheeks heat under my scrutiny, tropical irises dropping between us, observing the minuscule amount of space separating our bodies.
Oh to possess telepathy at this very moment. I’d kill to know what’s billowing around in her mind, to play harder on what she’s feeling.
“Dance with me?” I ask, mostly to distract her from possibly pulling away.
I’m not ready to let her go just yet.
Her gaze snaps back up to my face in an instant. “Here?”
“Why not? We have plenty of space.” I motion around us, a gesture she follows.
“But there’s no music…”
“Do we need music? I just want to give you what he couldn’t.”
Her body tenses in my grip before her head rears back. “He couldn’t do so because your brood ran him off,” she counters defensively, pushing at my chest to gain some space. “Had they just left him alone, I’d be in there right now—”
Tightening my hold around her, I press her flush against me and drop my lips to her ear, effectively ending her rant. “Just dance with me, Tinksley. Forget about the brood, forget about Pan. Just dance with me—do me that honor.”
“O-okay.” She inhales sharply, frame trembling slightly as I inhale her.
“Relax, I wouldn’t dare,” I rumble. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know…”
It’s a whisper in the wind, a concession I still can’t wrap my head around. Feels like my mind is going to burst. “Why do you trust me?”
“Why are you so nice to me?”
“Stop answering the question with a question. Tell me,” I press, easing back to entangle our stares.
Wide, innocent eyes bore into me. “I-I don’t know,” she falters.
Her reactions are addictive. I love them, feel my chest puff up because of them. I shouldn’t feed off her purity, but corrupting her would taste so damn sweet. Starting with those pouty, perfectly pink lips.
Wrapped around my dick.
As she kneels before me.
The corners of my mouth quiver at the thought. “Sure you do. Tell me.”
“You’ve never given me a personal reason not to trust you,” she whispers.
“I see.” Looming closer, I ghost my lips millimeters above hers. “Interesting, considering many would likely beg to differ, especially your beloved Peter Pan.”
“My turn”— she gulps—“Tell me…”
It’s not lost on me she’s digressed even with his mention hanging thick in the air. Trapping her chin between my fingers, I feel another smile tear at my mouth. A victorious one at that. “You’re too good for him, Tinksley. You deserve so much more.” All things I shouldn’t be telling her, seeds I shouldn’t be planting. They go against the plan. “He’ll never be enough for you, I can promise you that.”
He shouldn’t even be an option.
“H-How do you figure?”
“Because I just know. If he’s that quick to leave you behind, with a gang of bloodthirsty vampires no less, he’ll never be the man you need. He’s incapable, weak, a pile of flesh and blood occupying—no, wasting your time.�
�
It’s not until after the words spill free and her eyes mist that I realize I’m about to lose her. The reality of my words hit too hard, more than she can bear in my presence. She doesn’t push me away, but rather turns away and wiggles free from my hold. “I have to go.”
No, I think, trying and failing to shake off the dread creeping up my spine.
I catch her wrist on a quick reflex. “Don’t go.”
But she simply shakes her head and pulls herself free once more, skittering off into the night.
Leaving me in the same fashion he left her.
♫ Not About Angels - Birdy ♫
Slam!
I’m home.
Tears blurring my vision.
My heart on the verge of breaking.
Hearing my doubts aloud, out in the open—coming from someone else’s mouth—has cemented the fact that my subconscious isn’t wrong. Everything I’ve been trying to ignore, all the signs I’ve made excuses for, was a pointless, stupid feat.
Storming into my room, I pull the pin from my hair and shake out the tendrils. Rip off my gown with such force I’m surprised it doesn’t tear. It could burst into flames for all I care at this point; its memory right along with it.
All of it, especially Hook.
Damn him.
Damn him and his words. Him and his ridiculous, illogical effect on me. It makes no sense, none whatsoever. He gets close to me one time and suddenly I’m a stuttering, jumbled mess?
I blame it on those eyes, those ice-blue, arctic eyes. They could make anyone weak in the knees, whether they admit to it or not.
Scoffing at myself, I kick the dress into a heap and make a beeline for the bathroom, hopping into the shower. The water is still freezing when I step under the spray, but I don’t care. I need to wash the night off me, need to wash Hook’s presence and Peter’s absence away before I crawl into bed and beckon sleep to take me until tomorrow.
Will I really feel any different in the morning, though?
With reality now painted in a new light, what difference will a few solid hours make?
All the world, I can’t help but think to myself, but, deep down, I know that’s not the case. These doubts will anxiously bleed to the forefront of it all and I know, with time, Peter will start questioning me.