I don't own Syfy's Neverland or Peter Pan.

Delilah

"Hook." The word seductively slips off her tongue like a potent poison, a fiery venom that paralyzes and renders him defenseless. It hurts, but at least he feels something. "Hook," she whispers. He can feel her warm breath against his skin.

My friends call me Jimmy.

But she is not a friend. In fact, if anything, he is quite literally in bed with the enemy. But only to save the boys, he reminds himself. Win her affections, then take over the ship. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself—but even he is beginning to doubt his motives. And it frightens him.

Her lips are like hot irons against his skin—forceful and possessive. He can taste the whiskey on her breath. Not like her kisses. Her kisses were chaste and gentle. Her lips were soft and sweet. But when his eyes are closed, he can almost imagine that things had gone differently. He can almost forget the pain. Almost, but not quite.

Jenny. He almost whispers her name, but he catches himself before it comes out. "Bonny," he corrects himself. His eyes open, and it takes him a moment to remember that it's not real. But he can't dwell on that right now because the guilt is overwhelming. He looks up into her eyes. Jenny's eyes were a startling blue—as pure and perfect as an autumn sky. Her eyes are dark and wild. He can't deny their beauty, but there is darkness within their depths that goes beyond their coloration, a darkness in her soul that he finds both alluring and unnerving, a deadly elegance reserved for the eyes of a huntress like a cat that has cornered its prey. He is the mouse in this game, and he knows how it ends—her claws might not be out yet, but she's already started to bat him around. Soon she'll go in for the kill, but he won't let things go that far.

"Just think what we can do once the power of the mineral dust is ours!" But there is no 'we,' and there is no 'ours.'

There is NO 'us'!

She hasn't said she loves him, and he doesn't expect her to. He doesn't love her either. His heart has only ever belonged to one woman. And though he gives his body to her, his heart is one thing she will never touch. Or so he thinks.

I will get us out of here, he promises, I will get us home. He doesn't really know who he's promising anymore—Jenny or Peter or himself—but he makes the promise anyway, even if Peter doesn't believe him. He's not even sure he believes it himself. But he won't admit it out loud.

It had hurt to see the look of betrayal on the boy's face. He wasn't meant to see that. He wasn't meant to know. But Peter does know—knows better than Jimmy, perhaps—that this woman is trouble.

I don't trust 'em, Jimmy.

He doesn't trust me. But Peter is just a boy—a naïve, innocent little boy who could never understand. Can he not see that I'm trying to protect him? Can he not see the possibilities of what this mineral dust could do?

The disappointed look in Peter's eyes had been more than enough to affect his conscience. He knows that this is wrong. He's known it all along. But he hadn't expected to be patronized by a boy less than half his age! And it angers him. What does he know of love and loss? What does he know of grief?

But Peter is still one of his boys. And he still feels responsible for their safety.

He shifts his weight in the bed and reaches for the dagger hidden just beneath the pillow. Bonny is distracted. Now is the perfect time.

But then she pulls him in for another kiss. It's a lie, but he doesn't care. His resolve weakens, and the dagger clatters to the floor.

Tomorrow I'll find the boys, he reassures himself. Tomorrow it will be different.

He's been telling himself the same thing for over a week.

But one more day won't hurt.