Author's Note: Ok, bonus chapter. I had Darling's epic final chapter written… then a character staged a minor revolt and came to me in protest. "Maembe, Michael got his own chapter… Slightly got his own chapter… what about me? I'm a catalyst! I make stuff happen! Michael just looks at trees and Bell (though I don't know about either character's existence) and all Slightly does is say, 'yes, Darling' and wear a hat (speaking of which, you really should have given me a hat with a feather). I'm far more important. Please. Only a chapter, then Darling can speak for me."
Fine, John. Say your piece. The more Edwards the merrier. (You still don't get a hat.)
Shahrazád's Ghosts
Chapter 33: John (Edward)
2416 AD
"Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."
So sung a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle's feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:
"Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."
The Clod and the Pebble, William Blake
Ooooo
It was the soft fall of footsteps which first roused him. He knew the tread of those feet, as well as he knew his own, and he fought to open his eyes. They won. They felt like they were made out of lead instead of flesh and he warred against the weight of them for an inordinate amount of time before he finally pried them open. If he thought his eyes were difficult, they were nothing compared to the near paralysis soaked into the rest of him.
He recognized this lethargy. It was not the first time it had entombed him in its dark embrace. By how much his body protested, he realized he must have drowned himself in a barrel of medicine rather than a teacup and he groaned.
The last he remembered, Curly had discovered a flaw in the lock on the medicine vault… and there was more than enough to share. The venom in his mouth pooled at the memory and he involuntarily licked his lips. It was a double-edged sword. Such an unrestrained opportunity would only increase his thirst, and decrease the likelihood of its satiation, but, oh, how he had enjoyed it… at least, he thought he did. He couldn't be exactly sure, now, but he could make an educated guess. He'd pay for it twice over now and he knew it. Already, he felt the call of the depths of depression. It was all too familiar. After drowning himself in euphoria, he paid for it in as deep a trench of melancholy after which made it all the more difficult to face the hard work of living.
As his thoughts flittered above his face like fireflies, he grasped at the input his dilapidated senses could give him. His eyes blinked like they had never seen light before. He held his hands out before his face, as if they, too, were a novelty. Perhaps they were. They shook with an unmistakable tremor that was even worse than the last time he woke in this state. He clenched them both into fists and dug them into his sides. Then he closed his eyes for a time to try to remember how to breathe, how to listen, how to recognize scents around him. He was more than his thirst, though someday, his thirst would grow to engulf him. Perhaps it already had.
He caught a whiff of a familiar scent. It matched the footsteps. A spike of fear shot through him.
So, she had come back to them, at last… and stumbled upon them neck deep in the medicine vault. This wouldn't end well.
Under normal circumstances, their necks would be relieved of their heads by sundown. However, with the recent demolition of Neverland and the sparsity of ready replacements, he wondered if she would be more lenient. He did not know whether he would prefer a quicker end to his existence over this delayed torment of his life, but he supposed he didn't have much say in the matter.
A smile tugged at his lips but his head was still too heavy to turn to face the source of the footsteps. He was about to make a sarcastic comment when he realized he could not hear Curly or Thomas or any of the Braves. Of course, they hadn't developed as much of a tolerance as he had. Of all of them, he was first in line for demolition and he knew it. That only made him rush to the wine barrels faster. Unfortunately, that meant that he would be the first to wake and thus the first to bear their Lady's wrath. The cowards.
He couldn't hear the minds he recognized, but he began to notice minds he did not know… and their thoughts were entirely in Italian. There were two minds, each set on standing guard over a cellar door. Their eyes were not looking out onto the tunnels of Neverland but onto green, rolling hills covered with trees and vineyards. That realization was enough to inspire him to turn his head, though he still couldn't manage to lift anything else.
Darling paced the length of a wide room, a brilliant ruby red dress stopping just over her bare feet. By the scent and cool mustiness of the space, they must be underground. There were no windows interrupting the tan stone walls. The ceiling was so low, it made the space feel claustrophobic, simply because of how wide and long it was in comparison.
Paintings of Greek deities hung from the walls, each with golden frames entirely too fine for the simple stone walls behind them. The furnishings, also, appeared too elegant for the unextraordinary space. A table with two chairs sat in the center, inlaid with three different types of wood forming a pattern of curving flowers. A velvet couch sat against one wall and across from it, a plush armchair was scattered with a suitcase and a satchel. He started when he realized both belonged to him and he recognized his own books balanced on a nearby table. Why in all Neverland would his bags end up here?
Stacked against one wall, he recognized the unmistakable sight of medicine crates, each slat revealing a sliver of black glass withing. Venom automatically pooled in his mouth and he felt thirst rage through his body, despite knowing he was absolutely and completely full. He closed his eyes and felt the tremor move beyond his hands and up his arms. His sharp intake of breath at the sight was enough to pry Darling's eyes from the wall before her and onto where he lay.
"Have you been doing some redecorating?" he asked, forcing a false confidence into his tone. "I don't think I've seen this side of Neverland before."
The glare she fixed upon him was so furious, he closed his eyes again just to make sure they were working properly. He had seen Darling annoyed… and angry. He had even seen her so upset that she immediately took the head of the vampire before her, without a second thought. That was nothing compared to the utter rage emanating from her eyes now, as if she were wishing to immolate him to ash where he lay. He swallowed thickly, realizing that whatever was going on, it wasn't going to end well for him.
"I hope you had sweet dreams, because I will make sure every moment you are awake will be a living nightmare, from now on," she said. She crept towards him as she spoke, every movement vibrating with barely suppressed malice.
"Your eyes are red," he burst out in surprise. Then he grimaced. She was obviously angry with him and now was probably not the best time for such observations. Still, he'd never seen her with red eyes and it made him all the more unsettled. He decided to try again… and face the source of her ire head on rather than dancing around it. "Look, my Lady, I know we messed up, but you can hardly blame us for succumbing to temptation when such an opportunity presented itself. It was Curly's idea, after all, and… wait, where is Curly?"
John mentally reached out again, hoping to find his fellow Lost Boy, either by his mind or his scent, or the mind of someone near him who had eyes on him, but he could not find any trace of him… or the others. He swallowed thickly again, a sudden dread filling the pit of his stomach. Had Darling beheaded the others already, leaving him for last out of her special brand of spite saved only for him?
"I would assume that the surviving Lost Boys and Braves are all waking and getting acquainted with their new master," she answered.
"New master?" John asked. "I don't understand."
"Don't play dumb with me," she hissed. "If this is your next game, I will not be playing along."
He blinked at her. For all the decades he had served under her, he had never seen her quite like this. He definitely could not remember playing at anything that could even remotely be referred to as a "game." He covered his eyes with his hands again and decided his mind was far too fuzzy to deal with Darling right now. If she wished to speak in riddles, then she'd have to talk to herself.
"O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd. She was a vixen when she went to school, And though she be but little, she is fierce," he thought to himself, letting his mind wander in and out of the book he could still see open on the table. He must have been reading that before he lost consciousness.
That still begged the question of what exactly he had been doing, when he lost consciousness. Where was he now and how had he gotten here? He had absolutely no idea.
For hours, Darling refused to speak to him or so much as look at him. He didn't mind. He appreciated the silence while he reconnected his mind and his body into a coherent whole instead of the fragmented parts he had woken with. When he was finally able to sit up, he saw that she lay on the stone floor of the room, her eyes fixed entirely on the nondescript stone ceiling overhead. She pretended she could not feel his eyes on her, watching her, studying her, or the way he turned his head so he could not see the crates of medicine stacked along the wall. He refused to answer their call, despite how loudly they shouted at him. He needed to find out what was going on and he certainly wouldn't find his answers in the bottom of a bottle.
ooooo
John heard a chorus of unfamiliar minds approaching ever nearer to their location. They fought to control and limit their thoughts, and they did surprisingly well. He realized this meant they must know about his gift and have a certain amount of experience blocking him. He couldn't recognize them, but they, apparently, recognized him, or at least someone who looked like him. In the flash of one of the minds, he saw a memory of a figure who must have been a Lost Boy, but it was not one that John had ever seen. He wore a grey cloak rather than a Neverland uniform and had spent enough time with their visitors that they were familiar with his gift.
"You've been keeping secrets, my Lady," John concluded. "I'm impressed."
She was jarred from her trance and she turned to resume her heated glare in his direction. "What do you mean?"
"Who was Michael?"
She opened and closed her mouth once before her eyebrows furrowed. "Someone is coming?"
"Yes. Four are going to join the two already present."
"Can you tell who they are?"
John paused to listen, hoping to find some trace of identity in the approaching minds. He shook his head. "I can't tell."
Before John could ask any other question, a series of latches and locks ground against each other and a tiny window opened next to the barred door. Window was, perhaps, too generous a term. It really wasn't much more than a hole in the wall, just large enough for a hand or a bottle of wine to fit through, but nothing more. On the opposite side of the window, a deep burgundy eye set in ashy white skin peered into their room.
"There you are, Master Pan," cooed an unfamiliar voice. "I trust your accommodations are to your exacting standards."
Master Pan? John gaped before shaking himself and nodding. "Well enough."
"Very well. Our guard has gathered the materials you requested. I will return in a week to inform you of our progress. In the meantime, I will deliver the papers and tools you requested for your other blueprints."
John looked at Darling with questioning eyes but her answering scoff was no help. He turned back to the Eye.
"Of course."
"Very well. Master Pan, it is a pleasure to converse with you, as always." Then, the Eye increased the volume of his voice to call out to the other inhabitant of the room. "Darling, I trust you are well."
Darling turned her back to the Eye and refused to answer. The Eye chuckled. "Still sulking. Very well. Your mate will bring you around, in time. Then, someday, we will play at chess again."
At that, they all left, but not before John saw a series of images that made his mind reel. They must have been memories… but he could not remember them, despite being a prominent feature in each of them. He could see himself, but not like himself at all, and he was the central figure in Tiger Lily's Camp – filled with grey-cloaked figures and unconscious Braves and a screaming, struggling Darling.
I have given you far more leniency than you deserve, Master Pan, came the solid thoughts of the Eye. Do not let me regret it.
When the thoughts had finally travelled outside of his range of notice, John forced himself to turn away from the now sealed window and face the Mistress of Neverland. He was beginning to have the uncomfortable realization that her anger was, perhaps, roused by something other than a bout of overindulgence in the medicine vault.
"Who was that?" he asked.
Darling arched one eyebrow in response. "That would be Aro, Lord of the Volturi."
"I take it we aren't in Neverland anymore."
"Welcome to Volterra," Darling answered, one side of her mouth tugged up into a wry expression of disdain.
"And Aro, for some reason, has made some kind of arrangements with me?"
Darling gave an incredulous laugh and turned away from him to face the wall again. "I was not involved in all your side agreements with him, but I do believe you sold all Neverland… and me… to the Volturi in exchange for free access to medicine and my continued captivity under your hand."
That was... unexpected. Yet it would explain Darling's foul mood - and he just might deserve it.
"Oh, hell," was all he could manage in response.
Oooooo
John struggled to wade through the mires of darkness in his mind, seeking for memories, for inklings, for anything that would tie his conscious mind into the events that Aro, and Darling, referred to. He came up blank. When his morbid curiosity burned greater than Darling's bludgeoning silence, he steeled himself to pry past her anger again. Darling had been as still as the room's furnishing since Aro left. She did not so much as blink or take in a breath. She simply lost herself in the empty room and pretended he didn't exist. He preferred that to her death glare and so he ignored her, in turn. Still, seeing that it was only the two of them in this space, he didn't really have another source for information.
"My Lady?" he ventured.
Her red eyes pierced him through and through, but by the tilt of her head, he knew she was listening.
"What did I agree to assist Aro with?" he asked.
"Cloning blood and humans, I presume. I am sure you are eager for your own unlimited banquet of medicine and harem of Tiger Lilies."
That gave him pause. He could understand setting up a facility to produce medicine, but why would he want more Tiger Lilies? One had been more than enough. He thought of the human woman who died in his arms and he shuddered.
So much of John's early life revolved around Darling. As a human, it was her hand which fed him, clothed him, and kept him alive. As a vampire, it was very much the same except his new instincts kicked it all into overdrive. Every part of his being had been formed by her, made only for her, and was owned by her. Yet, the more he embraced the draw towards her, the more she turned and ran in the opposite direction. Her placid indifference, while painful, was nothing compared to her frigid aversion, and he never quite recovered from her absolute and total rejection of him when it came. His heart dissolved into a live wire, a festering wound, and he tried to patch it with whatever means were at his disposal.
It was easier when he believed they were all doomed to the same fate. When Darling's rejection was as shared a bond as her medicine, he could manage. After all, that was just Darling. She had no heart, so it was little wonder that she rebuffed every show of warmth towards her. He had developed a begrudging fondness for his protégé over the years, and had felt an amused sympathy for Peter's burgeoning infatuation with the elusive lady. John knew, only too well, how easy it was to fall for Darling… and he was even more acquainted with a painful journey her eventual rejection would cause.
His first inkling that something was different occurred when he caught Darling listening to Peter sing. With their shared link, there were very little secrets in Neverland, though Darling still managed a few by pure obstinance. Whenever she crossed paths with a Brave or a Lost Boy, their telepathy let John see Darling with their eyes and he watched her more often than was really healthy. That day, most wouldn't have noticed anything amiss, but John had spent decades mastering his Lady's every expression, her every reaction. While Peter walked through a hall, singing his silly Pirate heart out in some song about a bird, Darling stopped so she could listen. John expected to see cold disdain or impassioned indifference float across her face. They never came. Her entire aspect thawed and instead, she smiled.
It was not a smile forged of bitterness or wry humor or mockery. It was one of amusement… of fondness… maybe even warmth.
John froze in place, a spike of jealousy, and fear, piercing through him unbidden.
He watched ever more after that, or at least, as often as he could. It was a challenge since Peter was shielded, most of the time, but John could catch glimpses, and not only of Peter. It was Slightly who caught Darling watching Peter on the video feed - more times that could be coincidental. Braves heard her humming the tune to one of Peter's songs under her breath as she walked the halls. John didn't need to squint to see the way her smile tended to spread all the way across her face during the times she spent in Tiger Lily's Camp. It shrank back into normal size, once she reached the halls outside, but it grew again, the closer she came back to Peter's post.
John sought to mask the fears that welled up in his heart, lying to himself to help him avoid the inevitable. This worked till the day that Darling inexplicably spent two weeks sitting with Captain Hook and left Peter locked in a room with Tiger Lily. The woman who returned to Neverland could not be described as 'frigid.' She was desperate. She was distraught. She was frantic. It was obvious that she cared very much what Peter did...or did not do... and this crack in her fields of impenetrable ice shook John to his very core.
All Neverland saw it when she kissed him. They weren't meant to, he assumed, but that was a testament to her loss of control. So caught up in the moment, her shield flickered just enough so everyone could read Peter's mind long enough to taste the desperate fire of her embrace, see the unmasked fear in her eyes, and watch her face fall as he pushed her away in anger.
While the rest of Neverland may have fixated in awe on Peter's hold of his control, John couldn't pull himself away from Darling's loss of it. He knew, then, that contrary to what he had believed, Darling was not made of ice. She could thaw and melt and boil over, but not for John. Never for John.
John had already arrived in Tiger Lily's Camp by the time The Kiss happened. Slightly's frantic plea for someone to come and 'do the job' was answered by only John. He had grown so desensitized to his own rations that he was thirsty for more. If that meant ending their little mascot, he'd do it. If it hadn't been for Darling's little slip, John might not have been able to follow through with it. One glance at those dark brown eyes and hesitant smile was enough to make him pause.
If given the choice, he would always take a glass bottle over a flesh one. With an unlimited supply of cloned blood, he doubted he would have ended Tiger Lily. However, his thirst grew into desperation after Darling's slip. He felt his world falling out from under his feet and he needed to dull his senses and try to forget what he would always remember. The scent, the allure of wine made promises that they would never keep, but the bottle it came in was soft flesh and warmth and dark brown eyes.
He wrapped himself in his own shield of impermeable ice and a cloak of arrogance, and pretended he was not affected. What weakness! He allowed himself to become so desperate to remain unaffected by Darling that he would willingly, desperately slaughter her human counterpart. As if the last breaths of Darling's nearly identical copy could drive the original from his mind!
It seemed like all Neverland shifted on its foundations that day, for him as much as everybody else. He hated himself more in that moment than he ever had before.
Darling believed the carefully crafted lie he told to everyone-especially himself - that all he sought in life was pleasure. It worked, for a time. It was a patch of tape over a burst pipe and it held the torrents at bay for a time, but it was a temporary fix. Pleasure could mask pain, but it could not cure it, and in the end, he knew it was only hurting him more. Inevitably, the temporary reprieve passed, leaving him as lost as he had been before, or even more so, since he had to admit that he had once again failed to patch himself together again.
An unlimited banquet of his Lady's wine would be an escape, but one that would only trap him further. He knew this, yet still, he knew that in his darkest moments, he would willingly sell everything in the pursuit of the lie. But more Tiger Lilies? That was not something he had considered. Then again, he had never thought of making a deal with Aro, either, and here he was. He couldn't fathom it.
"You mentioned your 'continued captivity.' What did you mean by that?" John asked, slightly afraid of the answer.
"Oh, but you enjoyed yourself so much. Don't tell me you have forgotten?" she said. By the twist of her lips and the hardness of her voice, he rather wished he hadn't asked.
He collapsed onto the couch and leaned his head against the wall and he sighed. "No, my Lady. I can't remember anything. Not a bit of it. Look, I'm sorry if that makes me seem like I'm playing games or running away like a coward, but it's the truth. I have absolutely no memories past being with Curly and Thomas in the medicine vault. Everything between then and waking up here is a blank."
"Just like my sire," Darling whispered, so low he was not sure he was meant to hear it. "Very well, Master Pan, I will enlighten you to all that occurred during your indisposition and what your other self does when he comes out to play. However, I cannot share your side of things, only my own. Forgive me if that robs you of some of the joy of these fond remembrances."
She closed her eyes and he could sense it when she let down her shield. He held back his gasp of surprise. If he felt a bit too eager to be allowed to trespass into the secrets within her shield, he couldn't help it. Her mind filled with an image of himself, sitting sideways on her throne, with a crooked crown on his head and a medicine bottle in his hand.
"There she is! Ladies and gentlemen, I present her royal majesty, the Queen of Neverland!"
Her successive memories didn't improve matters. By the time she had shown him their arrival in Volterra, he had buried his face in his knees so he wouldn't have to watch the shifting expressions on her face while she told her story. More than once, he almost pleaded for her to stop, but he forced himself to watch and listen instead.
"You are mine!" he roared at her, pressing her against the wall of their new 'home' (or prison cell). "You cannot keep me away from you."
"You will not touch me again," she shouted back, pushing right back against his quaking shoulders with her tiny hands, her red eyes furious with rage. "You wish to spend eternity with me. Fine. You will spend every day of the rest of your life within sight of me, but you will not touch me. You will be trapped here, with me, wishing that you could. So close, and yet so far. All you desire, just out of reach, and it will drive you to madness, before the end."
Then, she dropped her shield and filled her mind with images and memories and imaginings so terrible that he placed his hands over his ears, as if that could keep her out, and he cried for her to stop. He screamed and writhed on the floor, but she did not relent. He crept ever farther away from her, shrinking in on himself, wrapping himself in the shadows, as if that would keep her away, and still she came.
"The torment you will face at my hands will be worse than anything even Caius could concoct for you," she said.
When she would not relent from her mental assault, he turned to the crates of bottles. Till this time, he had taken small enough amounts to keep him conscious. Now, he sought oblivion and did not stop until he found it.
"Satisfied?" she asked, once her shield was firmly back in place.
"Not particularly," he answered, truthfully.
How could he be? On the one hand, it was the fulfillment of all his darkest of fantasies, the worst of his impulses allowed to wreak havoc, unimpeded by any mediating influence. He recognized himself in all of it. It hardly seemed fair to now have to live with the consequences of his offenses without being able to remember committing them. If he could remember what it was like to have Darling in his arms, to finally taste her skin and see the bare curve of her back beneath his hands, he might consider it all worthwhile. But he couldn't remember a thing… and now Darling was worse than indifferent. She would never forgive him (not that he could truly blame her… he really had been a cad) but now he was trapped with her in the heart of the most powerful coven of the world.
Worse by far, he had made promises to the near-omniscient leader of said coven, promises which his intoxicated state assured him were easy to fulfill, but sobriety wrought a much healthier dose of skepticism. This was further complicated by the fact that all these dealings had been made with a version of himself who hadn't felt compelled to take notes or make sure John was informed of what transpired in his absence.
He was sure he should be terrified of Aro, and the Volturi, but in all honesty, they were nothing compared to an enraged Darling. It was like being trapped in a cage with a starved, furious tiger and he was her favorite flavor of meat. Darling wouldn't let him live it down. Worse, he could watch the wheels spinning in her head as she determined just what torment to fill her mind with next. She would make him pay. He could tell.
He thought about apologizing…or groveling... or both at the same time... but he realized it wouldn't make an ounce of difference now. They were still trapped and he couldn't undo any of it.
Seeing himself through Darling's eyes was like being drenched in cold water. For decades, he had been convinced he was in love with the woman. He told himself that if she only knew him, she would love him in return. He was convinced that he was worthy of her withheld affections and she wronged him by rejecting him.
However, sabotaging her life goal and turning her over to her greatest enemies – all so he could drink more wine - was probably not the best way to gain her favor. For all the years he had whined and grumbled and blamed her for all his heartache, perhaps, it he was honest, he could admit he was the author of at least part of it.
He absolutely, most definitely, shouldn't let her know some part of him was at least a little impressed with himself. To single-handedly incapacitate the most powerful shield and greatest vampire army known in the history of vampire armies… and strike a deal with the most powerful coven in the world… all while intoxicated… Well, that had to count for something. If he could accomplish that while slightly out of his mind, imagine what he could accomplish while in his right mind?
(And maybe, just maybe, he should postpone all inalterable life decisions, relationship shifts, and business contracts until he was sober… or, possibly, lay off Darling's medicine completely until they got out of here.)
Then he paused. Why had she surrendered herself to his captivity? He had not locked her in. He had not forced himself upon her. She had stayed with him willingly. She could have run away or hidden herself. She could have sat quietly on the floor and waited in silence until the Volturi came. Instead, she wielded her greatest weapon against his weakness and used his own desires against him.
In her memories, he could feel her frigidity, her distaste for him. Her every action and touch were borne out of a utilitarian impassivity. Her mask was carefully in place. She was entirely in control and he allowed her to manipulate him out of his desperate grab for a facsimile of her affection. It was as close as he would ever get to her love and so he would drink it up, even if he knew it was all lies.
Comparing that to just a single moment between Peter and Darling, when Darling's shield failed her, was as stark a contrast as the oases of Garden City to the barren sands of the desert outside it. Through Peter's mind, he had tasted a moment of Darling's unrestrained adoration, the fervent heat of her affection, and showed just what a cheap substitute he had been given… and wholeheartedly accepted.
So, why had she done it? He thought back over all she had shown him, trying to grasp for the connections his initial shock had hidden from him. Then, he found it – and he could have kicked himself for not realizing it immediately.
"Where is Peter?... He must be close. You were only just with him this afternoon. I will find him and then I will place his head on one of these pikes and then you will forget all about him…"
She wanted to distract him.
From looking for Peter.
Because Peter was somewhere in Neverland.
Darling had felt so afraid for his fate that she had hidden him away… and then resorted to using her own body as both a shield and weapon to ensure he stayed hidden.
They had all known that something changed in Darling, after Tiger Lily's death. She had fallen into her own uninterrupted melancholy that was so deep that even the Braves noticed. They all noticed when Peter had disappeared, sent on some "secret" assignments that none of the rest of them could know about.
"I think she secretly married him but doesn't want any of the rest of us to know," Thomas had guessed, one day when they were talking about it. "She keeps him outside of our range so we can't accidentally hear his thoughts and know. It would mess up the Braves something awful if they found out."
More than once, John had wondered if Thomas was right.
Then, after all Neverland falls apart and they get word the Volturi are on their way, Darling's first response is to run off with Peter. The pair vanished without warning. True, Darling sent regular communications back to her Lost Boys and had plenty of instructions to run affairs in her absence, but for as long as he had known her, Darling had one goal. Everything she did and worked towards was to prepare Neverland for the Volturi. When it finally came time for her life's work to be realized, she abandoned it all, as if it was no longer the most important part of her life.
"He's your mate," John burst out, jostling Darling out of her lethargy and bringing her ire back to himself. "Peter. He's your mate. He's still in Neverland."
At Darling's hissed intake of breath, he knew he was right, and he knew she would not be admitting it out loud.
She was separated from her mate, trapped in a glorified prison cell with John. John was trapped with the woman who he wished was his mate, but who did not love him in return. And then there was Peter…
Darling was right. He was now living a nightmare. They all were.
Well, there was still one sure way he knew he could pass the time more pleasantly than he was now. He could always pursue sobriety tomorrow. After all, it had been a rather challenging day. He turned to the stack of crates, opened a stopper, and sought to drown out everything but silence.
Oooo
When he woke to find himself temporarily missing both his arms and tied to the top of the table, he decided he might need to rethink his Volterra survival strategy.
ooo
Author's final note: Next chapter we will resume our regularly scheduled broadcast.
John quotes Helena from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream
