The Fae Princes （Vicious Lost Boys #4）
Nikki St. Crowe
To all the girls who know the sound of a silent scream.
“Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremor ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them…”
J.M. BARRIE
PROLOGUE
THE MOTHER
The Mother is barefoot, the child squalling in her arms.
He is a troublesome boy, restless and hard to please.
Mischievous too. This she knows without having known him long. He is only two weeks old, but that is long enough.
She knew he would be trouble the moment she gave birth to him.
Out of all her children, his birth was the hardest, the labor intense, painful and drawn out.
Now, the cool sand of the beach squeaks beneath her feet as she makes her way to the water’s edge. The night is sharp but warm, the stars bright, and she turns her face toward the universe and smiles at all of them.
Then the baby wails.
He has no voice yet, only complaints, and he likes to make them known.
Pay attention to me, his cries say. For I am most important.
Mischievous and arrogant.
If she keeps him and gives him a place among her other children, he will destroy them all.
She knows this as readily as she knows his nature, and there is nothing more to be done for either.
It’s him or them.
It is the only way.
And yet it makes her chest ache.
To abandon one child to save the others. Maybe one day he will learn to not be so volatile, but she can’t allow him to learn it with her.
Using a giant curled leaf she plucked from the forest foliage, she places it on the water’s surface, creating a makeshift raft. She’s heard the waters of the lagoon can be healing, and maybe they can heal his troublesome streak.
It’s the least she can do. The only chance she can give him.
She lays the babe down. The leaf sinks, water jetting in around him, and he wails louder, shivering.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and then gives him a push, and the water carries him away.
1
PETER PAN
This must be a waking sleep. More nightmare than dream.
When I slept in my tomb, sometimes I would wake to its total, silent darkness and wonder if I was still caught in the sleepworld. Perhaps this is that, but instead of darkness, there is golden light.
It’s the only sensible answer.
Tinker Bell is dead. Killed by me.
There is no way she’s standing on my balcony, speaking my name.
Hello, Peter Pan.
An eternity passes in an instant.
Tinker Bell’s wings flutter behind her. She is the same age she was when I killed her, immortal and ageless, more beautiful than any corpse has a right to be.
She’s wearing the same dress she wore that night, when I spoke the unspeakable words to her. The dress made to look like skeleton leaves, cut square across her chest, jagged at the knees. Fairy dust swirls around her and coats the balcony’s railing, making it glitter in the graying light.
“Tink.”
I haven’t spoken her name in a long time and the syllables feel like a curse on my lips.
“Tinker Bell.”
She smiles at me and my breath hitches.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says.
“How are you here?”
Her hands take up a fold of her dress and she bends her body into a demure S-curve. She flutters her eyelashes at me. “Did you miss me, Peter?”
My stomach sours.
I can’t do this.
She can’t be here.
Darling can’t see her and the twins can’t know she’s alive and Vane…well, I know what Vane would say.
Get rid of her.
“How are you here, Tink?” I ask again.
I have to know the magic that brought her here, if it’s the island punishing me again. If it’s Tilly fucking with me. Maybe Roc? Does Roc have this power to deceive?
The panic rises like fire in my throat.
I have to get rid of her.
“The island brought me back,” she answers and takes a step toward me. I step back and she pouts.
There was a time when I would have relented to Tink. I gave her anything she wanted. She was the only friend I had and I was terrified of having none.
“I think I must be a gift for you and my sons and the court,” she says. She flutters her wings and fairy dust catches an eddy of wind, swirling around me. “A little light for your darkness.”
A cold sweat breaks out down my neck.
The whispers of the spirits in the lagoon come back to me.
Drenched in darkness, terrified of light.
But this? This must be some kind of fucking joke.
Tink might appear shining with light, but she always embodied the dark. I think that’s why we got along so well. We saw in each other something we rarely saw in others. The willingness to get the dirty work done. And sometimes we did the dirty work just because it was fun.
What lesson are the spirits trying to teach me now?
How many hoops must I jump through?
When will it end?
Get rid of her.
I can hear Vane in the back of my head now. A means to an end. Whatever this is, it can only lead to more trouble and I’m tired of trouble. I want quiet for once. I want to breathe. I want to enjoy my shadow. I want Darling in my arms. I want…
I want to be at peace.
The thought catches me off guard. It’s so unexpected that something burns in my sinuses, something that must be tears.
I want to lie still and not have to worry anymore.
I have the shadow back. Do I really have to play the same game?
No. I’m not fucking doing it.
One more dark deed for peace will be worth it and the spirits will know I am no longer dancing for them, whatever sick joke this is.
I take a breath and then speak the words I swore I would never speak: “I don’t believe in fairies,” I say.
The words practically burn on my tongue, more than the first time I spoke them and watched Tink die right before my eyes.
Except…this time, she smiles at me and hangs her head back and laughs.
2
ROC
Smee finds me at the bar, pouring a shot of the Captain’s best rum. As the dark liquor fills up the glass, it perfumes the air with spice and smoke.
“You’re awake,” she says.
“And you sound positively excited to see me.” I meet her eyes in the reflection in the mirror over the bar. There is dried blood still smeared across my face, covering my tattered shirt. The Captain didn’t bother to give me a fresh set of clothes.
I have a solid guess as to why he let me lie in a mess of my own making.
“You told him, didn’t you?” I say to Smee. “And he left for Everland.”
One perk of the beast gorging itself is that afterward, my intuition is especially good, my senses especially heightened. And I don’t sense the Captain now. When I search for him in my sphere of awareness, there is nothing but a void.
Smee doesn’t answer so I goad her some more.
“He left and he didn’t take you with him?” I tsk-tsk.
She crosses her arms over her chest. Sunlight pours in through the leaded glass windows over her shoulder, rimming her in sharp golden light. I don’t know what time it is—Hook’s house is absent timepieces and I seem to have misplaced my pocket watch. But I’d guess it’s a little after nine a.m. When did I feed last? How long have I been out? For someone of my kind, a typical feast could render one unconscious for days. But this wasn’t a typical feast and I am not a typical man.