Nausea wells up my throat.
I thought Peter Pan and Vane and the twins were bad.
Nothing compares to this man.
I think I understand a little more why Vane did what he did and why he left his island.
I want this man to suffer even more than his sisters did at my hand.
I need you, I think to the shadow.
Please for the love of god, I need you.
“But we’re not on my island, of course,” Holt says, his lips spreading into a sinister grin. “I’m sure I can get creative nonetheless. But first…” He looks over at Vane. “First I will claim what’s mine. Get him up.”
The guards pull me back, one of them placing the curved tine of a blade at my throat. On my own, I’m no match for them. I feel like a bug caught in a spiderweb with no hope of getting out.
What the hell should I do?
Holt steps forward, the rock necklace still clutched in his hand.
He lifts it out before him and several tendrils of black mist trail away from Vane and toward the rock.
Vane grits his teeth together, sweat beading along his forehead.
How do I stop this?
How do I beat them?
If you were going to help us, now would be the time! I say to the shadow.
But it’s like it’s gone dormant.
Hello!
Holt takes another step and more of Vane’s dark shadow leaks out.
Don’t ignore me now!
My own shadow stirs and excitement surges up my throat.
Do something, I tell it.
Not my battle, it says.
You must be fucking joking.
Not my battle. Not my shadow. Better if it leaves.
I don’t care about the shadow. I need to save the man.
Vane’s knees buckle and he hangs between the two royal guards as more blood trickles out of his open wound.
Please, I beg.
But it’s too late.
Holt jams the rock into Vane’s chest and there is an explosion of dark, writhing shadow.
The ground trembles beneath us.
And when the darkness settles, Vane’s head is bent forward, his body limp in the soldiers’ grip.
And Holt’s rock pulses with the energy of the Darkland Death Shadow.
30
HOOK
I will admit that Peter Pan has never been my favorite foe.
He is no ordinary man. And an extraordinary man is extremely hard to fight.
Which is why we planned for the Crocodile to do his thing.
Except he’s taking a bloody long time to devour.
Peter Pan advances on us.
“Any minute now,” I say to the Crocodile out the corner of my mouth.
“It doesn’t work like that, Captain. And I’m missing my watch. I don’t know how much time is left.”
I gape at him.
Pan gets closer, but he’s taking his fucking time, probably enjoying stalking us like prey.
“Well what do you suppose we do until then?” I bark.
“We could dance, Captain.” The Crocodile flashes his teeth at me.
“The bloody hell do you mean?”
Roc pulls a dagger and darts into Pan’s guard.
Pan spins, but when he comes back around, Roc lands a solid fist in his gut.
Peter Pan staggers back.
I pull out my sword with my right hand and hold out my hook on my other as several of my men create a circle around us on the beach.
Down on the other end, the sand is writhing like there are beasts living beneath and the twins are having a hard time staying on their feet.
They’re fighting their own battle with their sister and several of her fae guard.
One of my pirates jabs at Pan and Pan catches the blade with his bare hand. Within seconds, the blade is flying off into the moonlight, transformed into a hundred moths.
Peter Pan with his shadow is an even worse foe.
Two of my men charge him. One shoots with his pistol but the bullet hits Pan and plinks to the sand, leaving no wound. The other man swings with his sword, misses, and then Pan grabs him by the throat and squeezes.
The pirate turns bright red as he fights for air, his feet leaving the sand and pedaling uselessly at the air.
Beside me, the Crocodile doubles over.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
His spine juts out from his back as he hunches forward. I grab him by the shoulder to pull him upright and immediately regret it.
His eyes are glowing yellow and his incisors have elongated to sharp points.
The sharp slant of his nose, the rise of his cheekbones, his entire face blurs along the edges like he is a man with no features.
I blink several times as if it’s my eyesight that’s the problem.
He’s more ghost than man, with no defined silhouette. Nothing but sharp, snapping teeth and bright, glowing eyes.