FORGET-ME-NOT
It's my own desire
It's my own remorse
Help me to decide
Help me make the most of freedom
And of pleasure
Nothing ever lasts forever
Everybody wants to rule the world
('Everybody wants to rule the world', Lorde)
– Culmination –
Part II
Slender fingers caught her chin in an uncompromising hold as his mouth melded over hers with enough force to steal her breath. Wendy had to grip the embroidered lapels of his coat to keep from falling. Beneath the barrier of heavy brocade, she could feel the press of iron-studded leather through the outer trappings of respectability, a chilling reminder of the danger she was courting every moment she remained here. Her mind froze, unable to comprehend the dizzying turn of events. Only days ago, she had fought him, here, at this very table, and now, now –
His mouth was cold, with an iciness that burned through and through her. Hot, wet sounds, his lips languidly caressing her own, soft and insistent, until she felt the sharp edge of his teeth, a brief, painful warning that he was not about to be merciful. This could not be happening, not when the world hovered on the brink of destruction outside. Peter – the Lost Boys – the mermaids – all the reasons why this was madness rushed upon her, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders in a silent protest, but she could no more fight him than she could fight an oncoming storm. Frighteningly, Wendy realized she no longer wanted to. His proximity sent the blood in her veins to a frenzy; all rational thought had fled. It was simpler, far simpler for once to just lose herself. Every fibre of her being was clamoring to give in, to end this elaborate pretence and for once just cast trouble and responsibility to the winds. The thrill of surrendering to that exhilarating state of endless vertigo was beyond her power to resist.
Magnetism in his kiss, in his touch. She could not have broken free even if she wished to. His thumb bruising on the hollow of her throat as he held her inflexibly in place, leaving imprints on her skin, as blue and dark as his eyes. The restrictive nature of the society she had been raised in and her own sense of self-preservation warned her that she could not let this happen, not again. She knew he was dangerous, knew he wasn't the sort of man she should want, but her body didn't care.
Neither did her heart.
Already, her hands were moving over his chest and shoulders with tentative, fevered touches, seeking bare skin (seeking the heart beneath). The agonizing, drawn-out fear, the danger she had faced and the death she had just escaped had heightened every nerve in her body to a painful intensity, rendering her acutely alive to every sensation. And somewhere deep in her mind was the consciousness that this must be the last time – the very last. There was a fierce tugging at her heart at the awful finality of it all. An intrinsic, soul-aching loneliness she had felt ever since she had left Neverland. So why not abandon herself to that final thrill of danger and passion before she would inevitably have to return to the cold, staid life that awaited her back home?
Her lips opened under his, tasting spice and rich wine underlain with the tang of metallic sharpness. In response, Hook deepened the kiss, all pretence of persuasive seduction gone. It was an exorcising of fear and loneliness she felt from the very core of his being, a despair that went far deeper than anything she could have imagined. The passionate pain and hungry yearning expressing itself in every searing touch he branded on her skin, pulling her closer, ever closer. Desperate for a connection, a meaning –
A dull thud of metal and Wendy dimly realized he had dug his hook into the table, pressing her back harder against the edge of the mahogany surface, trapping her against his hips. The force of his lean, muscled frame sent bolts of pain flashing across her skin, a raw urgency that made her wonder if he, too, sensed that this could never happen again. He was too forceful, too violent, and it should have given her cause for fear, but instead she found herself craving that dominance, longing for the hardness of his body moving over her own. In the heavy folds of his coat, she inhaled the dark tang of gunpowder lingering over the refined scents of cologne and tobacco, something bitter and smoky, an underlying heady thrill of danger. Beneath the carefully corseted exterior and refined mannerisms, her innermost core, that secret part of her that was drawn to the wild liberation of adventure and the unknown, had been awoken, straining against her ribs and seeking release. As though in response, the tips of his long fingers traced a line downward, pressing through the delicate material that clung to her chest, finding bare skin and awakening nerve endings that thrilled with sensation. She could not stifle an urgent sound of longing against his mouth when his hand curved around her breast, caging every rapid beat of her heart, possessing each one, making it his.
He broke away to take a breath, looking almost vindictively satisfied that she hadn't pulled away or made a show of resistance. The glinting edge of his hook ran a smooth caress along her cheek, though it seemed there was more cruelty than affection in the gesture.
But then she met his deep gaze, the cool blueness troubled by a sudden intensity. Earlier, out on the deck, he would have killed her, and yet how could she believe it with the way he was looking at her now –
Blinded by ice, Wendy put out a hand which the captain effortlessly caught in his own, trapping it against his chest where she could feel the strenuous beat of his heart beneath the layers of leather and metal and cold indifference. The light brush of his fingers over her wrist, tracing her thudding pulse, was a revelation. The gesture was so soft, so reminiscent of tenderness that she shuddered. She could not allow him to be so close. This had to end, before she fell too far, too deep –
He leaned forward, ghosting a kiss over her parted lips. His brow pressed against hers, and she felt a sigh emanate from the very depths of his being. Wendy was shaking with tremors of extreme emotion, a weakness she could no longer conceal. She felt her heart pulse, and ache. Feelings this fervent, both consoling and devastating, could not exist, should not exist, not when they stripped her of all authority. Not when he was still everything she knew him to be – ruthless and cold and half-maddened with vengeance. Yet, by some cruel twist of fate, the only man in the world who could understand her. He consumed her. She could no longer lie to herself, and very soon she would no longer be able to lie to him.
"You've maddened me," he breathed, a soft, smoky exhale against her skin. "With your damned provoking insistence; made me weak, that never before knew weakness." The deliberate press of cold steel at her neck froze the breath in Wendy's lungs; and for a moment she feared he had resolved to kill her rather than give in to this… this… But then, with a vigorous twist of his hook, he had lifted the tangled mass of hair from her flushed face, leaning down to roughly whisper in her ear, "Let me touch you."
His low voice, darkened with sensual intent, sent a violent tremor coursing through her body, but she had no words to express her desire. She was beginning to feel delirious as his mouth sought hers again; she felt the slow caress of his tongue and shivered at the unwanted pleasure of it. The scent of sweet wine on his breath made her head spin, and unconsciously she leaned in towards him, desperate to feel him more fully against her, so close to giving herself to him completely.
Incense-laden air caressed her shoulders and she jumped at the whisper of metal against her spine. Only then did she realize that he was unfastening the laces at the back of her gown, using the sharp edge of his hook to ease the fragile material apart. The sensation of those deadly fingers tracing the wings of her shoulder blades with no barrier of clothing between them, was almost enough to make her cry out; the sound remained trapped behind the cage of her ribs. Hook pulled aside the clinging edges of her dress, baring her shoulders, and put his mouth to skin. Lips brushed her pulse and she was lost. Wendy could only hold his head to her as he kissed his way down her throat and chest with lingering slowness, cool silk sliding down her arms, following the path of his mouth. Her face and shoulders had been burnt brown by the sun, but when the dress fell open to her waist, revealing a valley of pale skin, she heard him groan low and deep in his throat. A strange thrill shuddered through her and for a moment she was dangerously close to following this through to its end, to watch the captain lose all control, to wield that victory over him. But he was too adept at this, too masterful at coaxing her body into trembling submission; she would lose herself long before he did. She shivered and burned under every reverent movement of his fingers that dipped between the shadows of her waist. His caresses mirrored his kisses, slow and languid and sensual, and Wendy kept her gaze determinedly upward, unable to endure the thought of him seeing the intense need on her face. She dragged in a breath, the perfumed air as potent and drowning as the wine that coursed through her system. The ruby chandelier seemed to spin above her, following the bewildered eddying of her mind as she sank further and further into blissful oblivion.
She closed her eyes, the afterimage of crimson glowing behind her lids. The curve of metal pressed intimately into her waist, a sharp edge of pain to cut through the fog of pleasure. His flesh was warm, the silver cold. Forcing her further back onto the smooth surface of the table as a leather-clad thigh pushed between her skirts, a pressure that had her convulsively tighten her grip in the wave of dark curls that spilled between her fingers. Breaths ragged and hushed in the atmosphere that suddenly seemed unbearably heavy and stifling, the thick incense closing around her like a dream. Everything else was distant and dark; she could see and feel nothing but him. Clenched hands. Panting breaths. The slide of his fingers across every inch of her bare skin that trembled beneath the friction of his touch, achingly sensitive. She was awake, alive, feeling more than she could endure. Her hands ran over the broad line of his shoulders, wanting to cast off the intricate coverings of heavy velvet, to be rid of all barriers between them. She was so close to tearing the coat from his body, breath hitching in her throat at the thought of exploring the hard muscles of his chest, pressing her lips to that firm flesh. He was real, feeling, a man within her grasp. She wanted him. She wanted him. Overcome by a wave of yearning, of indescribable longing –
Through half-closed eyes, she saw the captain sink down with a fluid motion until he was kneeling on the panelled floor, long brocade coat pooling around him, dark as spilled wine. A soft sound of protest escaped her at the loss of heated contact, and Wendy felt her cheeks burn at the momentary betrayal of weakness. Hook lifted his head and smiled. Looking up at her through the shadow of his lashes, still unpredictable and dangerous, still unnervingly holding the balance of power between them. The momentary relief of cold air and the distance between them was almost enough to make her start returning to her senses, but he wasn't nearly done with her yet. She felt his hook lock itself onto her flesh, a chill manacle around the curve of her waist, while pale fingers slid the gossamer-thin material of her skirts upward with slow deliberation. She felt her muscles tighten. Her heart was thudding with fear, with anticipation, with –
Wendy felt the warmth of his exhalation on her thighs and stiffened, suddenly vulnerable with inexperience.
"Wait – what are you –?"
"My dear girl," Hook murmured, lost in distraction as he traced intimate caresses on her skin, "I'm going to make you fly."
Her mind could not move fast enough to comprehend what he intended. But her fingers wove through the curling black locks of his hair, some instinct warning her to find a hold before – before he –
When he lowered his head to her, she stifled a cry, unwilling to even give him that much of herself. But he was relentless and implacable, an arm tight and rigid around her waist, anchoring her in place. She was frozen against him, completely disarmed. This – this could not be happening. She could never have imagined letting him see her so intimately, never imagined that her innate modesty would allow him to… His tongue slid across her and soft flesh trembled and flushed. She should have been offended, outraged, but all those principles her upbringing had instilled in her as a mode of decorum seemed like a distant dream. She felt her skin prickle with cold, cold heat. There was something quivering, alert, stirring within her. She felt again the beginnings of that agonizing tension she had felt the night before in his cabin, that tightening sensation that threatened to undo her. Her lips were pressed tightly together – she didn't utter a sound. She didn't tell him to stop, either.
The red and blue-veined lamps blurred before her gaze. No sounds but the rustling shift of silk, the slick movement of his mouth over her, breathing fogged and heavy in her ears. She seemed to exist in a strange state beyond pain. The blood was boiling in her veins, warmth spilling down her legs. Her head fell back, and with flushed cheeks and parted lips, she could only let him do what he wanted. She had lost all will to fight against the treacherous pulsing pleasure that gripped her. But if this was surrender, it didn't feel anything like she had imagined. The pain of not surrendering would have been far greater. Wendy closed her eyes, losing herself in the scented darkness, and gave herself up entirely to feeling; the cold air against her bare skin, the wet heat of his mouth, the pressing curl of his fingers – she jolted (there – just there) –
Her breaths came short and shallow. One hand was buried in the ebony mass of his hair, the other gripping the edge of the table, nails scoring the smooth mahogany. Silently willing him, don't stop, don't stop. She would die if he stopped. Her body thrummed with frustrated desire. He toyed with her mercilessly, promising fulfilment to this tormented wanting, and yet, yet...
She felt herself balancing on a knife-edge of pleasure. It was too intense, she couldn't stand it –
"Oh - please -" The words left her before she was aware of uttering them.
He murmured something unintelligible, soft reassurances she was in no state to hear. She was arching, arching upward, moving against her will, careless now of trying to maintain any semblance of pride. Possessed by some inexorable force stronger than herself. It was no use trying to hold back. She felt too much, wanted too much –
At the icy touch of metal, she splintered apart, bringing a hand to her mouth with a smothered cry as she shuddered out her pleasure.
Through an ebbing wave of delirium, she felt her legs trembling beneath her. The mist over her eyes seemed to disperse as clarity slowly returned; the heavy silence of the cabin, the languid, drugged sensation in her body, the solidity and warmth of his arm braced against her waist. It was only then that she realized he had held her through it all.
Shakily, half-afraid, Wendy looked down. Had she seen a flash of the tenderness she had glimpsed earlier in his expression, she would have willingly remained where she was, would have freely acknowledged that something profound had just passed between them. But she only saw the supreme arrogance carved in every line of his features. Sable locks curled wildly over his shoulders, a slow, exultant smile raised to her as he remained unmoving from his kneeling position on the floor.
Wendy started to her feet. The raggedly filthy dress fell down around her legs, all her feminine pride reduced to ruins. He had stripped it from her. Her knees were weak, her muscles slack as though he had drained her of all the strength she might once have summoned against him. She could still feel him beneath her skin, all her body burning till the ivory of her gown glowed against it. Brassy strands of hair clung to her flushed chest. Her breaths came short and fast as she struggled to gather her incoherent thoughts.
What did you do?
She faced him with all the highly-strung anger of offended dignity, despising herself for the hot colour that flooded her cheeks, for allowing him to see her in such a vulnerable state. She should have pushed him away with contempt, cowed him with sharp, cutting speeches of icy reproach, but no words would come.
Hook's pale face was burning as he rose slowly, tall figure looming over her like a shadow. Blue eyes were filled with a wild, reckless abandon, as dark and turbulent as storm-chased waves. She had never seen such a look of desperation, not even that night out on the deck, a need fiercer and more intense than life itself. Love, revenge, and a desire for conquest. All the refined and cultured affectations had left his voice, tones low and hoarse while his hand clenched at his side, white to the bone.
"I've waited long enough. I must have you, my darling – completely – body, heart and mind."
Wendy forced herself to move, move until she had placed the long table between them. Only then did she have the courage to face him in the old manner of carrying herself, with its unconscious hints of pride and defiance. Never again, she told herself, never again. If he had her now, he would have her forever. The thought was too terrifying for her to contemplate.
Malevolence overshadowed his pale features. A cold, clear stare as the barriers fell between them once more. There was no hint of mercy in his icy gaze. No, he would not stop until he had utterly possessed her.
She was painfully aware of the silence as he stepped back, toying carelessly with the cuff of his brocade jacket, penetrating eyes never leaving hers all the while.
"So, it's to be war between us, is it?"
Wendy lifted her head with a coldly serene look, utterly determined to conquer this foolish passion on her part. "You wish to humiliate me."
He exhaled sharply, throwing out his hand in frustration. "I wish to love you, you damned fool, if you would only see it –"
"Then you shouldn't," she returned in a voice that trembled in spite of all her efforts, "Because I don't care for you."
"Won't, you mean." His hooded gaze ran lingeringly over the length of her, the corner of his sensual mouth curving slightly at her evident flushed and dishevelled state. Her throat constricted with something close to tears when she realized he hadn't so much as removed his outer coat; throughout it all, he had remained the collected and immaculate gentleman. "Stay here tonight and I assure you by morning, you'll care for me as much as you ever did Pan."
She knew it; and that was precisely why she could not stay. He might be able to dismiss the experience the next morning with a careless smile and a shrug but she would be hopelessly bound to him. Women weren't made like men. She knew how it would be. He would be arrogant and full of triumph, regarding her with cruel mockery in his lazy eyes while she would be cast aside, merely another victim of his vindictive schemes. Something to be discarded and destroyed when he was done with her. With unsteady fingers, she began to work on the loosened fastenings at her back. She felt sick with misery.
The captain turned to the decanter and poured himself a glass of wine. Wendy could not help but notice how his hand shook with the simple action, so lacking in his usual careless grace, and that one small gesture went to her heart more than anything else he had said or done that night. It was almost enough to make her move forward, to seek the solace of his arms and abandon all else. Yet she did not move.
"How is it," he muttered through his teeth, "That one moment your body is so soft and willing, and the next you are as hard as steel?"
The dim, intimate light cast a tint over his features, softening the hard plain of his brow and the bladed curve of his cheek. For an instant, he looked disturbingly sincere. If only she could trust him. Wendy remembered then that he had saved her from certain death by the mermaids. He had told her of the ghosts that haunted and hurt him, had entreated her to stay. While she… she had said nothing. She wondered again why he had chosen to make her the confidant of his dark secrets. Was it merely to bring her to this point? To lower her defenses, soften her until she was willing to –?
She could not shake off the words he had spoken earlier, that even after everything, made her doubt his sincerity. I intended to use you. I still intend it, and were you not so preoccupied in your conceited delusions to outwit me, you would have realized it sooner.
Wendy hesitated, caught in indecision. The captain was seated at the long table, the glass of wine untouched before him. His head was bowed as though in grim contemplation, an elegant disorder of dark curls falling over his shoulders. The lamps burned faintly in their glass cages, a play of gold and shadow sliding over the pallor of his profile. The stillness was so heavy she could not breathe. Conflicted with fears and desires, overwhelmed by an intensity of emotion that frightened her. It was becoming harder and harder with each passing moment to fight her feelings. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to strip aside everything else until they lay together, heartbeat to heartbeat. It unnerved her, this warm flash of feminine tenderness, never expressed toward a living creature outside her family (save Peter, always Peter). What had happened to the Wendy Darling who had scorned all such sentimentality in her classmates or fired up at any unwelcome impertinence aimed in her direction? Only a few short days ago, her romantic heart had been deeply concealed beneath a veneer of calm reason and polite courtesies. And now, all her Aunt Millicent's strict teachings lay forgotten as though the last seven years had never happened.
There is no rationality left in me. You have stolen it. I am all feeling.
Yet, hadn't he opened himself up to her first? He had betrayed his deepest fears, exposed the depths of his blackened soul. Perhaps it was time for them both to exorcise their demons. But how to express the emotions that had been burning within her for so long, unspoken? Feelings that simmered beneath the façade of a ladylike demeanor, trapped in a whalebone cage, straining against a gilded prison of ribbon and lace. Something has gone wrong inside me. I am not living the life I was meant for. Somewhere along the way, I lost myself in that petty, shallow world. I need to find it again – that dream, the hope, that spark – the belief that life was an adventure, a horizon of endless possibilities, not the narrow, constrained existence of tedious monotony that passes for living in London.
There had been a strange, unsatisfied void in her heart for the last seven years. For a moment, Wendy allowed herself to envision that yearning deep within her. A cabin hung with her own colours, filled with her own books, the deck gleaming beneath the sun as the ship moved through southern seas on a spice-scented breeze. Then, dropping anchor to stroll through strange cities, gathering stories and returning at night to write while the harbor slept and the moonlight gleamed on the silver waters. And a companion to share it all with; a mind with dreams and aspirations akin to her own, an intelligence sharp and disillusioned and wayward. The freedom, the emotion, the vague danger, the lure of the unknown, the old wanderlust stirring in her heart…
I have found all the magic, adventure and wonder my heart could ever wish for. But why did I have to find it with you?
She had already had her heart broken once, when she had been merely a girl, too careless with her affections. Had she really been so deeply hurt by Peter? For ever since then, no one had tapped into those deeper feelings of which she was capable. She had never allowed it. And now, this unstoppable force had swept away all her cold reserve with frightening ease. Wendy did not love easily, but when she did, it was passionate and deep and lasting.
How she wished she could ignore it; that strange understanding they seemed to share. But stronger still was the desire to see more fully into his heart and mind, to chase away the bitter memories and regrets that haunted him. They both had locked themselves away in solitude. The eloquence in his blue eyes expressed something deeper than his cold words, a yearning that went beyond riches or power or revenge. I wish to love you, you damned fool, if you would only see it. Wendy pressed her hands against her burning brow, trying to rationalize her disordered thoughts. If only she could know whether it was the right decision, and not merely the blind impulse of a weak womanly heart.
The captain looked up and smiled, his teeth very white against the black of his moustache. "I believe you're frightened of me," he said thoughtfully. "You think I'll have my way with you, then cut your throat. You've seen my hoard of treasures, become privy to my plans and done your utmost to destroy me, and now I'll have to silence you for good. Am I far from the truth?"
Expressed in such a way, it sounded wild and irrational, and Wendy laughed in spite of herself.
"That's better," he said. The richness and warmth had returned to his cadences, and for once, he spoke without artifice. Wendy wondered if she had ever seen him look so young. He had not always been as he was now. What dark course had his life taken to render him so heartless and bitter?
She looked at him carefully, forming a decision. At the very least, she would know. Either way she would be better off, freed of this awful uncertainty. She might be weak with fear, she might be sorry for it later, but rather that than be haunted by regret the rest of her life, and wondering what if…?
The rustle of crinoline skirts across the wooden floorboards sounded startlingly loud as she moved hesitantly forward. A trembling hand rose, half-outstretched towards him.
Hook said nothing, but his eyes blazed with sudden intensity, deep and piercing as ice-crystals. There was both fear and wonder in his face.
"Wendy…" he said hoarsely – and his face suddenly hardened. "Get down."
Her body obeyed on instinct, faster than her mind could rationalize. As she threw herself down, skirts brushing the dark-varnished floor, a blur of silver flashed through the air and a dagger thudded into the wall, missing the captain's head by inches.
Even before the residual tremors of the blade had stilled, Hook had recovered in an instant, drawing himself up in full regalia, a cruel smile playing around his lips.
"It seems we have a visitor," he remarked, the drawling, desultory quality in his voice that of the Captain Hook she had loathed so fiercely in her childhood.
Wendy knew already what she would see, and the relief was almost blinding. A rush of warmth filled her heart when she glimpsed the slender, boyish figure hovering in the doorway, but a moment later she saw, with an icy stab of panic, that he was injured. His tunic was ragged and rent with cuts, dark smudges of gunpowder clung to his pallid skin. His eyes looked strangely enormous in his white face. Careless, happy-go-lucky Peter, who was never in pain, never had anything wrong with him… he seemed so vulnerable suddenly, so painfully young. A child, thought Wendy. A child playing at war.
"Peter darling," she said, making an instinctive motion forward. "Thank God you're safe. I was so worried…"
She remembered then that he had killed Cecco and felt suddenly ill. It seemed that a darkness moved behind those green eyes, that something of diabolical intent lurked beneath the mocking, pixyish features. Life and death were a mere game to him, a game where arrows were toys and shedding blood was simply a way of winning. She realised suddenly how dangerous Neverland was, a danger that had nothing to do with mermaids or crocodiles or pirates lurking in the shadows, but in youthful minds and innocent souls left to run free without restrictions. How could a child distinguish good from evil, reality from make-believe, when he had grown up with only images of his own creation, lord and master over his changeless fabricated world where truth and consequence had no matter?
"Wendy! Tink said Hook had taken you –"
"Not quite," the captain muttered resentfully.
Wendy felt her face redden and was furious with herself in consequence. Peter was too intent on his enemy to notice, and would not have understood the cause of her discomfort if he had. His eyes danced, wild and wicked and irreverent as he faced the dark, brooding figure of the captain.
"Game's over, Hook. I win."
"This is no game," Hook vowed quietly. "And your luck is at an end." He rose, tall and fluid, a hand extended behind him, closing around one of the gilt-handled cutlasses that hung upon the cabin wall. For a man taken by surprise, his utter lack of fear was unnerving. Clearly, he too had seen that for all Peter's seeming bravado, the boy was trembling where he stood, hands open and unarmed, for his one knife remained embedded in the wall.
The captain advanced, hook and cutlass upraised, doubly armed while Peter remained helpless, his only weapon that boundless, easy confidence that could never be shaken or made to falter.
In a moment Wendy stood between them, but it was Peter whom she protectively shielded with her arms flung outwards, Peter for whom she faced the finely-honed edge of the captain's blade. In the past, it had always been Peter protecting her, but he was merely a child, and a fire of righteous indignation rose inside her that Hook could – and indeed, was ruthlessly determined to – inflict violence on this boy. Any deeper feelings towards the captain were momentarily swept away as she faced him with glowering reproach, unconscious of Peter's impatient attempts to push her aside.
"Wendy – let me at him – he's mine to kill –"
"This has to stop, before you both destroy one another."
"No," said Hook, with a shrug of his elegant shoulders. "Let him make his threats. He'll be just as dead in the end."
Wendy turned to the boy, resting her hands gently on his shoulders as she looked down intently into his vivid, animated face. "Peter," she said earnestly, "You must listen to me –"
The captain's derisive laugh cut through her like a blade. He was leaning against the table, one long leg crossed over the other as he watched her efforts with amused indulgence. "Oh, by all means, try and reason with him. But surely you know one of us will inevitably have to kill the other?"
Wendy ignored his words, her white face set in stubborn lines. No. I will not believe it. One of them must have a better nature in there somewhere, buried deep within. She truly believed in her heart that Peter's cruelty was not borne of conscious malice, but merely a lack of understanding; no one had taught him any better. Surely his warm, impulsive nature was one that leaned towards good and not evil?
"Peter," she said, "I know this seems nothing more than an adventure to you, just like the stories you once listened to. But these are real people – people who feel and hurt and love. You must leave them be. Your choices have unimaginable consequences." She drew a shuddering breath, and forced down the choking emotion that rose in her throat – neither one in the room would consider her any more kindly for it – "I know that it – that it's hard to understand, but I'm saying this for your own good. You have an entire world at your feet. Do what you like with it. But please, for my sake, end this bloodshed and violence. You told me once that you didn't remember love. Perhaps it's time you forgot how to hate, too."
Peter considered her solemnly, brow furrowed in faint lines as he struggled to understand her calm reasoning. Then, slowly, he smiled, white teeth flashing against the bark-brown of his skin, and the smile turned to a laugh. It was the golden purity of a child's laugh.
"Wendy," he said, "When did you become such a girl?"
Silence had fallen over the cabin. Even the captain uttered no disdainful remark, but remained in his indolent position against the table, though a steady watchfulness had crept into his gaze that fixed unceasingly upon her.
Wendy dropped her hands from Peter's shoulders. Her cheeks burned with humiliated anger. She, who had always despised others for showing strong emotion, thinking it showed a contemptible lack of self-control, was on the verge of succumbing to the weakness of tears. It seemed all the folly of her childhood stood exposed before her. Peter, her champion, the hero of her girlhood, was no more deserving of her faith than the man she had defied for his sake. Had she ever known him, truly? Or had she merely breathed into him all her secret hopes and longings, formed a vision of him against which the living, breathing boy could never hope to compare?
Very well, she thought, with resignation. Do what you must.
It was then that the captain finally made his move. He cast a momentary glance on her, and facing her was the cold, heartless stranger she despised. "If you don't wish to see your beloved Pan being butchered, I suggest you go above decks."
"I will never forgive you for this," said Wendy.
"Go," he said, the edge of a warning in his voice, "Now."
For once, Wendy did not argue. In part because she saw there was nothing more she could do here, neither one could be reasoned with and she had sense and self-preservation enough not to be caught in the crossfire. And another part of her had glimpsed the tightness of his lips, the unspoken appeal that flashed through his eyes. In spite of his remorseless determination to kill Peter and pursue this war until its bitter end, it seemed he really did want her out of harm's way.
She backed away to the door, heart thudding in her ears, watching them both until she was outside the cabin. The dank, musty air of the passage settled damply over her lungs as she drew deep, steadying breaths, trying her utmost not to think about what might be taking place on the other side of the wall. That was the way to break-down, to hysteria; and if she at twenty – young and strong – gave way, what hope was there for Peter? Perhaps it was cowardice, but she could not watch one kill the other.
But still, inactivity was impossible. She was too full of energy, too breathlessly alive in every nerve to allow her fate to rest upon the two figures in the cabin. She had started to discover her own strength, the stirring challenge that lay in overcoming adversity. There was still work to be done, and she would do it while Peter and the captain were otherwise distracted. There were the Lost Boys to be sought after – had they escaped or were they held captive aboard this ship, at the mercy of Hook's men? Had they drawn near enough the shore that an escape attempt might be possible? Or was there hope of her finding fairy dust to carry her away?
With a vigor borne of desperation, Wendy made her way rapidly down the swaying passage towards the ladders above deck, wondering what she would see outside. How much time had passed since the mermaids had attacked the ship? It could have been hours; her falling into unconsciousness, the… the encounter with the captain –
No. Those memories must never be revisited. She sought to maintain the firm sense that had guided her these past seven years, but strength of will was no power against the illicit stirrings of desire that whispered beneath her skin. Alone now, she could not help but think of it. She was haunted by his touch, the shadow of caresses that stirred her sleeping blood. He was inside her like a slow poison, rendering her body a slave to something beyond her control. There was no escaping him.
The fresh air came as a relief when she emerged above decks. Wendy was startled to realize how near the shore they were; the promontory stood vast and silent, stately rocks towering high, the ragged walls disappearing into blackness. It was the closest she had come to setting foot on Neverland since she had arrived here. But standing between her and freedom lay a wild stretch of water; the dark, enormous waves rose, hovering, and then fell with a deafening thunder, sending great plumes over the deck. The mist that had hung in a ghostly pall over the ship had long since dispersed, and great veils of nocturnal hues swathed the heavens from horizon to zenith. Cascading sheets of mauve and emerald green to deepest indigo and midnight blue. The air was cold and salt-sharp, borne straight from the northern seas. The wind blew in Wendy's face, stinging her eyes. It invigorated her in body and spirit, and filled her with an exhilarating sense of freedom, in spite – or perhaps because of – the danger she faced. She lifted her head, hair blowing back over her shoulders, and gazed up at the far-eyed constellations glimmering overhead. The wild beauty of the scene caught her breath. She had never felt more alive. How could she return to normalcy after this? Would she even recognize the quietly demure, well-mannered young woman she had been only a few short days ago?
She thought suddenly of Charles Quiller-Couch, foolishly handsome, so earnestly, unfailingly polite. She could abide by the wishes of her parents and her Aunt Millicent, marry him and never have to think or worry about anything again. Charles would make a fuss of her, spoil her, introduce her with a show of pride to his acquaintances as his new young bride. Lunches, society parties, all arranged by other people, a life that was safe and with no responsibility other than looking her best and doing her husband proud. So she would drag herself through the years, silent and hiding her secret bitterness. Immersing herself in a cold solitude of feeling as she had these past years, reading and dreaming far into the night.
It was the great tragedy of women living in this age. For men – for her brothers – life could still be a grand adventure, even beyond childhood – with places to visit, things to do, great projects to be pursued. Men built cathedrals, invented machines, wrote philosophies. And women, even her, were little more than dolls. Pretty pieces on a board. Things to be moved around by men. Imprisoned in frail bodies and corsets, petted and patronized and cosseted with endless courtesies. Most of them fortunate enough to overlook the utter triviality of life, not possessing the awareness to realize that once the glitter and glamour disappeared, nothing remained but an empty shell. Had she not discovered Neverland, she too would have been one of those laughing, careless girls, and would never have entered the pain that the knowledge of deeper things brought. Ignorance and innocence were things to be envied. It was far better to be a pretty, foolish creature of society than to understand the harshness and cruelty of the world they lived in. Because sometimes hope was hopeless and childhood love wasn't enough. No, better to be shallow and satisfied with the trappings of society than to harbor illusions and dreams only to see them crushed by a cold, indifferent world.
Wendy realized her eyes were burning. Impatiently, she brushed a hand across them. She would not indulge in self-pity. The only thing to be done about harsh realities was to face them. The wind tugged at her hair and skirts as she navigated the deck, careful to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Hook's men seemed engaged in the usual labors of sailing, but she could sense an air of expectation pervading the deceptively clear night. The sails swung heavily overhead in vast, rippling sheets, conjuring shadows and movement. Magic glimmered in every corner, darting, fleeting –
"Tinker Bell," she exclaimed, startled.
The fairy paused, mid-flight, wings beating fast and fierce as a hummingbird. That bewitching, feminine face showed a flash of wary recognition.
"Tell me," said Wendy quickly, "The boys – are they here?"
The fairy nodded with evident impatience. A slender white arm thrown out in the direction of the foredeck as she darted to and fro, streams of glittering dust raining from her agitated form. Wendy immediately sensed the cause of her distraction.
"If you are looking for Peter, he's below with the captain."
She watched as a sudden flame seemed to leap within Tinker Bell's frame, bright and vivid as a sunburst. For the first time, Wendy felt a stirring of pity for the creature, which eradicated the secret dislike – and jealousy – she had once harbored. Looking at that poor, thin body with its translucent sheath of skin, beneath which glowed a frail light that ebbed and eddied, she realized that the fairy was too pulsing and transient, too brilliantly living in the present to comprehend the tragedy that she was loving someone – with all the force and fire she was capable of – who would never understand or have the capacity to return even a spark of such passion. It was a lesson Wendy had bitterly learned, but in learning it, she had been able to let go. Peter was hers no longer. She wondered if he ever had been.
She could sense Tinker Bell's suspicious gaze on her still, the silently brimming resentment that was on the brink of spilling forth.
"Don't worry," she said dully, "Soon I'll be gone and all this will be over."
Yes, soon she would be safe. And with safety came comfort and complacency – no struggle, no endeavors to rouse her from the torpor of luxurious living. Wendy feared that she would once again become accustomed to the effortless ease of London life, that it would deaden her into forgetfulness and she would become again the soft insipid creature she had sought so hard to escape.
She watched the fairy fly away (straight to Peter), and a sigh caught in her chest. It was all too late. She had forged her own chains, made herself a slave to convention. She would return to the vain show of life in Bloomsbury and be left only with this weary aching. My life has been one of lost dreams, she thought. Weighed down by exquisite finery, pearls spilling through her fingers, moving through life only half-awake, and wondering why all those trivial day-to-day occupations never seemed to complete her. Misery, loneliness and a certain future awaited her.
It wasn't enough. The call of the road was upon her, some harbor of cherished dreams. An unimaginable vastness of a world waiting to be discovered. I want to do something great and wondrous, to have a life that means something –
The wind howled in a lashing torrent, salt spray drenching her skin. The sharpness of it, the wet, biting pain awoke her body and stirred her mind from its dull apathy. Unable to resist the challenge, Wendy felt her heart beat fast at the prospect of action. Why, if these were to be her last few hours aboard this ship, then she would make them count for something. Her last call to adventure, to embrace the wild, heady rush of freedom and purpose, let the consequences fall where they may.
Heavy clouds billowed and roiled, searing arrows of lightning flashing from the tumultuous depths. She wondered how many hours it was until dawn. The day had been endless, yet she was far from fatigued. Adventure and excitement had filled her with a restless, burning energy that needed to be satiated. Keeping her gaze fixed on the bent backs of the men as they steered the ship on its tempestuous course, Wendy made her way towards the foredeck. Every now and then, she caught sight of glimmering trails of fairy dust on the wooden boards and tried to gather as much as she could. It was barely a handful, but if she could get even one child to safety, it would be worth something.
They were huddled in a disheveled group, no more than half a dozen boys, bound together by a twisted length of salt-stiffened rope. It seemed that some of them at least had been able to escape before the mermaids had boarded the ship. A motley collection of children, small faces dirt-streaked and hair plastered down with seawater. She saw Whiskers among them, who grinned and gave her a nod of recognition.
"You're Wendy, aren't you?" he said. "The Wendy?"
She knelt swiftly beside him, brushing the fine, glittering powder into his bound hands. He was the oldest of the assembled boys, and there was an intelligence in his quick, dark eyes that she liked. "Here – each of you – share the fairy dust among yourselves. Use it the moment you're free, do you understand me? Make for the shore at once, and don't look back."
"Are you going to stay with us?" one of the children asked shyly.
"I'm afraid it's too late for me," Wendy said, but she was able to smile without bitterness. "Now hold still."
Her fingers struggled with the complicated knots, the pressing urgency of time causing her heart to pound unsteadily in her chest. Whoever had bound the children knew something about ropework, and Wendy silently cursed herself for discarding the sharp silver marker earlier, but following that line of thought led inevitably to the captain, and that she would not allow herself to do. I will not think of him. I must not think of him.
"What are you doing?"
Wendy did not flinch at the suddenness of the coarse, roughened tones at her shoulder. Discovery had been inevitable, and so long as she was not found by the captain, she trusted to her own wits to get herself out of any situation relatively unscathed. She turned and saw the tattooed form of Bill Jukes hovering threateningly over her.
"Captain's orders," she lied calmly. "He says they're to walk the plank."
His inked face registered deep mistrust, and Wendy gazed back, her own expression bland and inscrutable. Fortunately, the quicker-minded of the children came to her assistance, starting up a clamoring chorus.
"Oh, please no!"
"Not the plank –"
"Anything but the plank!"
That drew a callous laugh from the pirate. "Aye, the plank it is for you vermin –" He turned to Wendy with a gesture of impatience. "Hurry it along, then."
Wendy kept her head down, struggling to keep her mirth in check as Jukes moved toward the stern of the ship, shouting a command over his shoulder. Something of that high, willful, adventurous spirit she possessed must have shown itself in her face, for Whiskers grinned, and a flash of camaraderie passed between them. A lightness filled her heart that was reminiscent of the Neverland of old, and she tugged at the ropes around his wrists, suddenly careless of all troubles.
"Didn't I tell you she was one of us?" said a voice. Arrogant and sweet-tongued, arresting enough that he immediately commanded attention through the sheer force of his confidence.
"Peter!" The name became a chant as the boys turned to him as one, delight and worship shining through their thin faces. Wendy recognized that expression all too well, had worn it herself once upon a time when she too had shared that blind faith. His very presence had the power to chase all their fears away. Happy these children might be, but the world they lived in was unreal, a world of fantasy. This was simply a game to them, and none of them even considered the possibility that they might suffer the consequences. Yet who was she to pull them out of that illusion? Was there anything crueler than to force a child to grow up before their time? No, let them enjoy the dreams and beauties of youth; that transient time was more precious than anything in this world. The years went by so fast… here she was, twenty years old, with nothing to show for it. How little she had accomplished, save for a few scraps of novels hidden away in the dark out of sight, along with all her other buried dreams and aspirations.
She remained outside that bright circle, unable to share in the simplicity of their joy. She could not so easily forget their danger. A faint unease stirred beneath her skin. Because if Peter was here, then it meant that Hook –
Even as the thought fluttered uneasily through her mind, the quicksilver touch of metal across the back of her neck silenced her like the kiss of death.
Cold emanating from ice, travelling down the length of her spine (a ghostly mockery of the path his fingers had taken, those slow, sweeping caresses burning the blood). The rope fell from her shaking hands, where it lay coiled, snake-like on the deck. A shiver of apprehension seemed to run through the group of children as they huddled closer together. Wendy closed her eyes, frustration burning within her. She had been too late. Another failure that he could hold against her. In a single glance, the captain discerned what she had been doing and made no reaction, save for a slight raising of his dark brows. He leaned forward in a creaking of leather, close enough to murmur in her ear, "You have a unique propensity for trouble, dear girl."
Wendy merely shrugged her shoulders. He knew her well enough by now and they had both chosen their sides. But it was difficult to maintain a façade of indifference when he dragged a hand down the filmy layers of silk covering the curve of her waist, the searing warmth of his touch a sharp contrast to the bright cold of steel at her throat.
She jumped as Peter's laugh shattered the narrow space between them. "Haven't had enough yet?"
The captain's hand tensed momentarily on her waist, before he mercifully released his hold, allowing her to step aside with an outward show of contempt. Pale fingers curled around the gilded handle of the cutlass thrust into his belt, and he drew the blade with an elaborate flourish, aware perhaps of the crew slowly gathering to watch. "Not for an instant. I want every man aboard this ship to watch as I make an end of you."
Peter rose upwards, his figure light and glowing with the golden shimmer of fairy dust, while Hook remained hopelessly earthbound, a dark and menacing figure in his crimson garments, prowling the deck like a caged animal, awaiting the moment to strike.
Wendy wrapped her arms around her tense frame, nails digging white crescents into her skin. Her heart was pounding fiercely, caught between the conflicting desires to see Peter win and the captain survive.
Peter glanced fearlessly at her, his face glowing with the excitement of battle. Boy and shadow reunited once more, he spun, he soared, gloriously free… how small the rest of them must have seemed to him. He had no weapons, but it seemed he didn't need them, as gifted with the power of flight, he could use everything around him to his advantage. Darting lightly between the black shade of the sails, he gathered a handful of chains and flung them down with all his strength. The captain staggered back, rendered breathless by the impact as he thudded into the heavy canvass. But he had righted himself in a moment, black hair tumbling wildly over the dented metal of his armour. The blue ice of his eyes flashed beneath dark brows that were narrowed in an expression of such hatred that it stole her breath.
"Coward," he hissed, "Come down and face me like a man –"
"I'm no man!" sang Peter joyously.
"Aye," returned Hook, "Not yet perhaps; but you kill me – the boy becomes a man. Once you've had that first taste of blood, you'll never be a boy again. And so, dead or alive, Hook wins."
Peter merely laughed away the threat, unshackled by the fears and doubts that bound the rest of them to the ship. But Wendy thought of Cecco and felt sick to her heart. The captain at least was haunted by the men he had killed; dreaming or waking the ghosts visited him – to his constant torment. But Peter… she shuddered, pushing away the treacherous thought, and concentrated on the scene unfolding before her.
There was a deadly kind of beauty in the sight, both moving with the fluid grace of music. The blur of icy steel whistling through the chill air. Like two wraiths spinning around one another. Hook's laughter, echoing and metallic. She saw too how well they knew one another, the symmetry in each parry and thrust that only came from years of observation and obsession, after endless conflicts and thwarted attempts to bring the other down. The captain's inability to fly made no matter as he seized every opportunity to attack that came his way, careless as one damned, love crossed long ago. The cutlass sang in his closed fist. She glimpsed again that quality of innate greatness he possessed that had been misused, twisted, bent in a direction he should never have taken. He smiled and moved about with skilled elegance, striking and retreating, turning and evading, on and on it went, this endless, eternal dance. Wendy realised despairingly that the captain had been right. It would only end with one of them destroying the other.
Then a spark leapt out of the darkness, streaming through the air in a blazing arc of gold. Curling around the captain's hook, the fairy extended her arms around the curved edge like a bird unfurling its wings, struggling to hold back its insatiable progress. Hook attempted to brush her aside like she was nothing more than a mere nuisance to him, but Tinker Bell stubbornly maintained her grip on the sharpened point, her anger glowing hot and fierce. He looked down on her with a sigh, the expression on his pale features one of mingled pity and exasperation. "Believe me, my dear, I am doing us both a favour." Wendy swallowed hard as his gaze fell upon her. "Will you women never learn? No matter how you might delude yourselves into thinking otherwise, Pan is not capable of love."
And you are? thought Wendy. But the cruelty of the captain's words hit their intended mark; something of the light seemed to leave Tinker Bell's bright form as she bowed over like a wilted flower. With a careless flick of the wrist, Hook flung her away, and even as her frail body collided with the mast, one of the pirates acted. A dagger pierced one of the filmy wings, trapping the fairy against the wood. Pinned to the mast, like a butterfly on a board.
Peter's wounded howl was that of an animal, full of blood and rage. The sight of the fairy's struggles seemed to fill him with a kind of madness. He descended, faster than a green comet streaking through the sky. The captain spun, long coat flaring around his lean frame as he eluded the collision. Hair lashing in the wind like long coils of black leather. No sound but the steely whisper of his cutlass cutting an icy swathe through the nocturnal air. The sharp edge missed Peter's bare feet by inches, and the boy rose higher, hovering tauntingly just out of reach. Always prey to the caprice of his moods, he gave a cry, a glorious cry of liberty. He was wild, he was free… nothing could touch him. The cheers of the Lost Boys spurred him on to greater feats. He was becoming bolder now, more reckless. His shadow danced around, first here, then there, too fast to be caught or struck. The captain following mere seconds behind. His hook shredded through the sail, metal-capped heel slamming down, almost splintering the wooden platform of the deck as the silver blade carved through nothing but air. Mocking laughter followed him at every turn.
And then Peter was standing before the captain, bold, unarmed, smiling with irresistible, delighted mirth.
Hook didn't hesitate for a moment. Wendy's heart stopped as he swung his cutlass straight towards Peter, but instead of striking, the blade continued its trajectory, slicing cleanly through the ropes bound to the sails. Canvas rippled and parted and a great mass of ropes spun and uncoiled, descending rapidly, and suddenly Peter was enmeshed in the depths, trapped in a net that rose and hung suspended over the rigging.
Wendy started forward, but steady hands on her shoulders restrained her. Turning forcefully in an attempt to throw off her assailant, she saw that it was only Mr Smee, who had her in a hold that was firm, but not at all fierce. The momentary glimmer of kindness in his faded blue eyes showed her that he had not forgotten her saving his life earlier. "There's nothin' you can do now, Miss," he said gently. "Leave it be."
I can't, thought Wendy. But she was merely a girl with no strength against a crew of armed men. Bound by the frustrating constraints of her sex, she could only watch as Peter struggled helplessly, spurred on by the jeers and laughter of the pirates. Her hands clenched at her sides. This was making a sport of cruelty, a humiliation, and she knew exactly why the captain had done this. It was designed to shed Peter of his pride, his arrogance, that very image of untouchable audacity that made the boys follow him.
The captain by contrast exuded a lithe, deadly grace as he slowly paced the deck, head tilted upwards, gratified by the sight of his enemy caught at last. His distinct, melodious tones were laced with mockery, further fuel for the pirates' pointing fingers and derisive curses.
"My, my, such temper. Someone really ought to have raised you better."
"You'll pay for this, Hook –" the boy cried, struggling uselessly – "I swear it – Neverland will never rest easy until you're gone!"
"Foolish child," the captain hissed. "I am Neverland. I have had seven years to plan this moment. Do you really think I haven't considered every detail and eventuality? Counting down the years, the hours, the minutes to your destruction?"
Peter's distant face was fierce with anger, and as though in answer, a crimson-veiled haze drifted over the sails, descending slowly, purpling all the ocean and spreading like the spill of blood. Hook, careless, lifted his face to the infernal light, undeterred by the display of power. His cutlass fell to the deck with a resounding clang. His solitary figure stood alone in a sea of mist, tall and straight, master in his own domain. Every eye was upon him. This is why, thought Wendy, this is why men will follow him blindly, no matter how harsh and cruel and ruthless he might be, no matter how low he will cast them or treat them – they follow him because he is utterly unstoppable. She wondered at her own naivety in thinking she could ever defeat him. Cecco had never stood a chance.
"Behold!" he said, "The great, wonderful Peter Pan. Not such a hero now, are you boy?"
A ripple of laughter ran through the crew. The men greedily hung on every word, blood fired up with conquest and the animal craving for violence. Wendy thought how little gratification they must encounter in the miserable grind of their day-to-day existence to derive such satisfaction from Peter's suffering. There was a vicious tang of anticipation in the air, reflected in those shining eyes and grinning mouths. Gentleman Starkey was the first to break the fervent silence in an attempt to ingratiate himself with his master.
"Victory is yours, Cap'n."
The wind careered mournfully through the sails, salt spray dripping onto the slick wood of the deck. The red light flickered and wavered, casting distorted shadows across the assembled men.
"Then why does it feel so empty?" Hook whispered, and it was her gaze that he found and held. An impulse seemed to seize him, as he strode forward, the metal of his steel-capped boots echoing off the deck as he approached her with forbidding intent, silver hook curving beneath her chin as he lifted her head, forcing her to face him.
"You always have an answer for everything. Tell me why it is that I've been so wretchedly hollow, unable to feel since the day that cursed crocodile dragged me beneath the waves? Victory within my grasp and I can taste nothing but the ashes. Even revenge can't satisfy me. After everything I've done to bring him down – none of it means anything if I can't glory in his destruction. I've renounced my soul, but my heart – ah, my heart – you would know something about that, wouldn't you?"
Wendy looked at him and said nothing. She read his face with an almost cruel steadiness. If he wanted pity – well, he had forfeited his right to that the moment he chose to follow his revenge above all else. And yet she did pity him, for all that his misery was self-inflicted. She knew what it was to choose the wrong path in life.
His hand was caressingly cool against the side of her face, fingers tangling absently through the fair hair that clung to her throat in wayward strands, and for a moment he was simply the man who had touched and held her, declared that he wished only to love her. It seemed to her that he was two different people; the smiling, contemptuous Hook, a cold and heartless villain to the core, and James, the man of feeling, wearied by the long bitterness of life. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. She only knew that she wanted him in spite of everything, and the knowledge was a heavy weight in her chest.
She turned her head to one side. The battle lines had been drawn. This was how it would end, with them both refusing to back down. He gazed at her a moment longer, his mouth tight, before releasing her with an outward show of disregard. "I'll not be made to look a fool," he muttered venomously. "Better death than despair."
Circling the length of the deck, he cast his dark head back, gazing up at the trapped boy with cool contemplation. The old, vindictive malice shadowed his pale eyes as he stood there, brilliant and dangerous, balancing the fate of life and death on a knife's point. "My men say you can't be killed. But I'll be rid of you, one way or another. And if you can't die, then I'll merely have to satisfy myself with destroying your world, piece by piece. Starting with your precious Wendy."
His words came as no surprise. She was calm with despair. Could she ever have believed that he would choose her over power and revenge? Whatever professions of love he might proclaim when they were alone would never measure up to his ferocious desire for vengeance.
She felt the bo'sun's gentle push at her back, urging her forward. He had probably never liked her, but his innate kindly nature seemed to recoil at sending an innocent woman to her death. "Sorry, Miss. But orders are orders…"
"It's all right, Smee," Wendy said graciously. Strange, how even after everything that had happened, her manners still remained. She seemed to be observing herself from a great distance, far, far removed from the reality of what was taking place around her. Perhaps it was better this way. She would, at the very least, hold aloof. She did not waste her time on futile pleas for help. These men had laughed and drank with her on that first night aboard this ship, but they were Hook's men, and if Hook wanted her dead, then they would kill her without a second thought. Cecco was the only one who might have hesitated – not from any affection towards her, she was not so naive as to believe that– but because there was profit to be had in an alliance. But he was dead, and… no, it was better not to think about that…
One stumbling step after another and she stood before the captain, silently waiting to see what he would do next. His eyes were cold as he looked on her. She was pushed against his rapidly beating heart, a hard arm around her shoulders, locking her to him. He flung her down on the salt-beaten deck, a booted heel poised above her chest. The world turned. The sea shattered in her vision, and there was salt in her throat. Breathless. For a fleeting moment, the mists dispersed, and Wendy saw the constellations spinning overhead in a glorious array, high as her deepest aspirations, those remote, endless lights glowing with magnificence. So close she could almost reach out and touch them. Then there was only him gazing down at her, blue eyes burning hotter than molten silver, colder than an arctic storm, and suddenly, the dreams and the reality coalesced and became one and the same. The captain leaned down, dark locks falling over his shoulders. His hand was on her cheek, long, lithe fingers cold against her jaw. A silent entreaty.
His voice was hoarse, too low for anyone else to hear as his lips moved a breath above hers. "I repeat my offer, one last time. There is always a place for a storyteller."
Wendy looked into his face, and laughed. With that final, desperate appeal, he had just damned himself, and with a sudden, piercing clarity, she read in his eyes what she had been too blind to see before, what had been there perhaps ever since she had held his own cutlass to his throat and challenged him that night in the cabin. In that moment, everything turned bright and sharp and real. It was as though the last seven years had been a dream, and she was leaving behind the dreary path of her old life.
She was so close. She was on the brink of stripping her heart and soul bare, confessing all and revealing the hidden essence of herself. The words hovered on her lips, those words that would forever change the course of her future –
But she realized that he had only heard her careless laugh.
"That damned pride," he muttered. "I thought I had knocked that from you. So, stubborn to the last, is it?"
Wendy almost laughed again; her soft eyes kindled at last, filled with the wild passion and spirit for adventure. The deck thrummed beneath her and she inhaled the lashing salt, the sea-roaring of the wind. It was a fatal game she was chancing; she was gambling with her very life, but she had seen the expression on his face, heard the words which had betrayed him. Death and damnation. You know why. And because of it, she feared him no longer; she would never fear him again. She might only be a girl, with a girl's weaknesses, but she was a match for him in spite of that. Let him threaten her, if he could. He could no more destroy her than bring about his own destruction.
So she rose to her feet unaided and swept him a flourishing bow, mocking. Her calm white face must have angered him, for he gripped her shoulders hard, face twisted with bitter condemnation. With an effort, he forced himself to indifference, lifting a cynical dark brow, allowing himself a laugh clouded with spite.
"So, you are determined to return to a life unworthy of you, a life you despise, and for what? Let me tell you, dear girl. You think yourself a free spirit, wanting to live on your own terms, but in truth, you're nothing more than a coward, after all. Your sense of liberty is an illusion. Pride and fear have made a slave of you. You won't even bring yourself to be honest about what it is you truly want."
Wendy flinched as the force of his words struck her, sharp as a lash. But still she wouldn't say it. She was too strong. Or too weak. Her pride silenced her. The declaration was more than her reserved nature would allow her to express. Some lingering fear held her back; fear of losing herself beyond all control.
The red curve of his mouth came down at one side. A stirring of compassion and furious despair. Twisting the knife in deeper, opening and salting old wounds. "So, you choose to return to your bonds over your own happiness? It really is better that I let you die and put you out of your misery. Very well. I've endured your scorn, your defiance, your meddling in my affairs long enough."
The silver edge of the hook touched her throat, lingering over her artery. Hot blood pounded beneath the skin and the metal pressed deeper. Wendy was forced to move. Back and back and back. The plank groaned unsteadily beneath her feet. She willed herself not to look down, resisting that deadly lure of vertigo.
Somewhere, far away, Peter was calling her name, a child's plaintive cry of desperation. But the time when Peter could help her was long gone. In her own mind and heart, she had let him go. Already, he was in the past. Her future loomed on the horizon, black and bleak, a howling wilderness.
The roar of the crew was a distant echo. She couldn't see beyond the captain. Aware only of the wet, salt-stung air, the creaking wood, the billowing sails. The very air trembling with potent rage. Unwillingly, she glanced down. The sea below her was a wild abyss of great curling crests whipped into turbulence by a bitter northerly wind. Slate grey and Aegean blue and turquoise deepening into black. Jagged rocks broke the waterline, rising in the distance. Only a thin strip of wood stood between her and that rolling darkness. A world terrifying and strange and merciless.
Wendy was calm. The roaring of the sea, the howling wind lashing stinging spray against her skin – none of it could touch her. Her hands and her will and her spirit were free and beyond all reach of fear. She halted, staring at Hook, waiting for the inevitable. Lost in the depths of those eyes, as though she were already drowning in the dark floodwaters…
An echo of memory stirred within her. The captain rising upwards, his hook held aloft, face twisted in ferocious exultation as he made to deliver the killing blow –
She frowned. But… his eyes…
Something was missing.
His eyes are supposed to turn red –
Understanding slowly dawned on her. Wendy looked down at her hands, hands that seven years ago the captain had made certain to bind, just as he had ensured her eyes were covered, with no means of escape, no chance to swim for the shore…
"Goodbye, Wendy Darling," he whispered hoarsely.
A leather-booted heel descended on the plank.
"James –"
The water rose up to meet her.
