Unhooked (30 page)

Unsettled and unsure, I tuck the bloody rune into a pocket and focus on what I need to do. Without hesitation now, I press my hands to the wall again. Blood has already left tracks down my arm, but I don't bother to wipe it away, just as I don't pay any attention to the burning ache from the still-bleeding wound. My blood courses hot and free through my veins, and I focus everything I have—everything I
am
—on the island. On the rock in front of me. On saving Rowan. And for the first time, I truly let myself believe in what I might do.

In what I might be.

Heat floods through my body, but this time, it's as welcoming and gentle as a summer breeze. Above us, the sharp report of cracking rock echoes. The monsters freeze, shifting uneasily as they search for the source of the noise.

“Christ, lass, what are you doing?” Rowan says hoarsely, and I can hear the wonder in his voice. And the fear.

I feel that fear too. I just don't let myself react to it. “I'm getting us out.”

Keeping my hands pressed against the stone, I shift back a bit, allowing the cliff to move toward me. The whole wall rumbles with great, groaning creaks and thunderous crashes as the once-shear rock rearranges itself one bit at a time, creating a precipitous path up the face of the mountain.

The relief that courses through me nearly knocks me off my feet. “Come on,” I tell Rowan as I step onto the first of the protruding rocks.

He hesitates only a moment before he begins backing his way to where I am. “You think it'll hold?” He eyes the newly formed steps uneasily.

“I don't think there's much choice.” I climb to the next bit of rock. It seems solid enough, so I take another. And then another.

Behind us, the beasts begin to move again as they realize their prey is escaping.

The steps are steep—almost vertical. At times I have to claw at the rock for handholds to pull myself up, but we move quickly—Rowan following at my heels—and ascend at a steady pace.

“Faster, lass,” Rowan urges.

I look down and see that our escape is not going to be easy—the monsters can climb too. So I move faster, ignoring the burning ache in my open wound, ignoring everything but the promise of safety above.

We're maybe halfway up the wall when I hear the rustling scrape that always sends ice through my veins. Before I can even warn Rowan, the dark spaces beneath the crevices in the rocks begin to move, seeping from their hiding places and creeping down, along the cliff. My heart races as I pick up my pace again, but the shadows are already gathering, sliding down the face of the rock like a dark waterfall, slinking steadily toward us.

When the still-unformed shadows reach us, there's nowhere to go. They blanket us with a layer of damp darkness that smells of decay as it slides along my skin and brushes softly at my face. I freeze, unable to keep climbing as long as they are touching me, unable to do anything but cling to the rock and wait for whatever will happen next.

But this time no memories assault me. I have no vision of a dark forest. This time, the darkness feels electric—raw and pure and almost exhilarating.

A voice whispering that sounds so very much like the one I hear inside me. This time it urges me on.

The shadows continue to flow over us, but they never form into the dark Fey. They never attack. They slide steadily down the face of the cliff, leaving us untouched.

When they reach the monstrous beasts, they are not so kind. In a matter of moments, the two creatures are overwhelmed by a blanket of shadow. With snarling growls, the beasts swat at the creeping darkness with their terrible claws, their mouths open to try to consume it. But the shadows never fully form. They swirl and creep, wrapping themselves around the beasts, taunting them. As the monsters try to pull the wisps of darkness away, they lose their balance and tumble one by one to the rocky floor of the clearing below.

“Go,” Rowan urges again, and this time I don't hesitate.

I climb faster now, clinging desperately to the flinty rock whenever I lose my footing, and when I reach the top, I hoist myself over with my last bit of strength. Rowan is next, collapsing beside me, his chest heaving with the effort of his own climb. He rolls over and looks up at the sky, and then he looks over at me, his dark eyes steady and too perceptive.

And then, all at once, he's laughing, long and hard.

I join him, the overwhelming relief of making it to safety coursing through me and spilling out of me in halting, gasping laughter. But then, suddenly, I'm crying even as I laugh—hot tears of relief and amazement. And fear.

The place he found himself was not heaven, and still, it was also not hell. It was a cruel land filled with nothing but want. A place where boys ran and ruled and sated every desire at the point of the sword. The boy could not help but think that perhaps he had been to a place so much like it before. . . .

W
E DON'T LET OURSELVES RELAX for long. Neither of us trusts that we won't be attacked by some new horror. Rowan sits up and examines the gash in my arm. Without a word, he tears a piece of fabric from his shirt and binds the open wound for me, his dark eyes avoiding mine.

He doesn't ask me why I did it or what I cut from my arm, and that one kindness is more than I could have hoped for. Because even though I've admitted to myself what my mother did, I'm not ready to say the words out loud.

When he's done wrapping my arm, he offers me his hand and hoists me to my feet, and then we continue to make our way into the heart of the island, the center of Neverland.

The land at the top of the cliff isn't so thick with jungle growth. From here the terrain eases down into smaller hills, and as we walk, I hear the soft rush of flowing water in the distance. In silent agreement, we follow the sound, and when we breach the top of a gentle rise, we look down to see a valley spread out below us.

Wordlessly, I follow Rowan down the sloping hill and into the valley's basin, but my heart sinks. We've arrived at the falls Pan first brought me to after he took me from Rowan's ship. It's another dead end.

When we finally reach the edge of the clear lake, I turn to Rowan and tell him what I've been worrying about ever since I saw the falls: “I don't know if I have enough energy right now to get us over those.” My body aches, and I feel absolutely drained from the effort it took to move the last mountain.

“We're not going over.” Rowan's eyes are sharp, assessing the space for danger. “We're here, lass. From here,” he says, pointing to where the falls cascade over the stepped rock, “the water flows from that point, down and out to the sea, filling it constantly. This is the center. The heart.”

“That can't be,” I tell him, certain he's wrong.

He quirks a brow in my direction.

“He brought me here,” I say, confused. “Pan, I mean. When he took me from your ship, this is the first place we came. He told me to call the island. Why would he do that if this is where he hid the Queen?”

“Cocky bastard,” Rowan mutters, but there's a hint of admiration in his tone. “He always did enjoy showing off, lass, but he most likely brought you here to test you. If you'd have shown any indication that you sensed the Queen's presence, I'm thinking your stay at his fortress would have been a mite different than it was.”

“Test me?” A feeling of unease creeps across my skin as I remember Pan pressing his hands over mine, tempting me to call Neverland my home. I
had
sensed something that day, but I'd felt stupid about trying to explain it to Pan. So I hadn't said anything.

He glances down at me. “He needed you to trust him, lass. It's what he does—seduces those who follow him with promises of pleasure and power, and then, when they give themselves to his keeping, he takes from them all he can. They sacrifice themselves to him and for him. It's what he would have done to you as well.”

I rub my arms, suddenly chilled with how true and right Rowan's words feel. Didn't Pan himself tell me that power requires sacrifice? Isn't that what Fiona said as well—Pan allowed me to see what he wanted me to see? He told the tales he wanted me to believe, so I would trust him. Give myself willingly to him.

And it almost worked. When he rescued me from the ship, when he rescued Olivia from the End, I'd wanted to trust that I'd found a hero who could rescue me. I'd fallen right into his trap.

Turning away, I look out over the lake, around the valley, trying to focus on what's ahead of us and on what we still need to do. “You're sure the Queen's here somewhere?”

“When I was still one of his lads, Pan showed this place to me. Though it's possible it was a boast or a lie, I don't think it was. He wanted me to know what he'd done—he wanted me to understand his power over this world, because he wished me to follow him without question. But I do suppose there's only one way to find out.” Rowan inclines his head in my direction, a challenge if I've ever seen one.

The valley around me feels different now. The first time I saw this place, the falls took my breath away. This was the place where I first believed I was truly in Neverland, but now, heavy shadows from the setting sun slant across the land. The water no longer throws up rainbows in its mist. It whispers, soft and deadly, of the secrets it hides.

I feel different too, though, and I don't think it's just the bit of metal I carved out of my own arm. It's more than that. It's about the way Rowan is looking at me right now, like he believes I am capable of doing what we must. And maybe also like he's afraid I am. He holds his face so careful, so still, but I can see his fear.

But his fear doesn't bother me. I feel differently about myself now—stronger, more sure. I'm unafraid now to examine even the darkest parts of my past, of what I am. And I'm unafraid to look to a new kind of future.

“If this works,” I say softly, “will you come back with me?”

He startles, as though he didn't expect the question. From his expression, it looks as though it hurts him just to think about it. “There's nothing for me in that world any longer, lass,” he says after a second.

“You don't want to go back?” But the tension in his face tells me the answer.

“I've dreamed of it, to be sure. Though I'm no longer certain, exactly, what it is I'd be returning to.” He steps away from me, his gaze steady on the dark water. “Here, at least, I have purpose.”

“But if you stay, you'll die,” I whisper, shaken by the determination in his voice.

He gives a small nod, but there's no fear or pity or regret in his expression. Only resolve to do what he must.

I look at this boy before me—this boy who has lived through so much. He's killed and he's protected, but he's managed somehow, miraculously, to survive in this place. And I understand now that whatever happens, he doesn't expect to live through this—maybe he never has.

“You don't think this will work, do you?”

His gaze shifts away, uncomfortable. “We've come this far, haven't we?”

“But still, you're not convinced.”

He doesn't respond, just frowns at me, those fathomless eyes of his refusing to look away.

Part of me is glad he doesn't lie. Somehow the starkness of the truth is easier to deal with. It forces me to consider my own actions, my own future. And it forces me to admit the decision I've already made.

Since being brought to this world, I've come to understand that everything I've ever learned about good and evil, about the choices we make and the choices we must live with, have been nothing more than convenient fictions invented by those who have never been confronted by the darkness and actually forced to choose. The choices Rowan has willingly made, the evils he has committed should give me every reason to fear him. He is, by his own admission, a murderer. A pirate. A man without anything left to lose.

But I don't fear him. Not anymore, and maybe, not ever really. I trust him more than anyone else in this hellish world, because he's never spun fairy tales about good or evil. He has simply stood in the space between and not pretended the choice could be otherwise.

I take Rowan's face in my hands and make him look at me. It's been such a short time since we met, shorter since I came to understand who and what he is. I touch his cheek, tracing his scar with the pad of my thumb, memorizing every inch of his face. The sharp set of his jaw. The gold flecks in his eyes.

How could I have ever thought he had cruel eyes?

His eyes are not cruel now. They contain everything we are both too afraid to say. Every hope, every desire we both understand we can never have.

“Nothing good can come of this, lass.” His voice is no more than a rasp, and it shakes with the same uncertainty I feel.

I know that, but he's standing there, so close, and looking so very far away, and I don't want to leave him in that place. “I don't care,” I whisper, the words nothing more than a breath caught in my throat.

He studies me, his face too shadowed by the growing twilight for me to read the emotion there. “You're far braver than any wee slip of a girl has any right to be, you know.”

“I don't feel brave.” I feel nervous and scared and hopeful, all together in one overwhelming moment. “You're shaking,” I say as he brushes my hair back from my eyes.

“Maybe,” he whispers, his mouth against my forehead. “But it's been ages since I've felt as human as you make me feel. I've tried not to want you, but I can't bring myself to stay away.”

“Then don't,” I whisper.

His hands cup my cheeks, the hard steel on one side, the human warmth on the other. Both tremble as he leans forward until our faces are only a breath apart, and then he settles his lips against mine. They are warm and soft and taste of the spice of cloves and the saltiness of his sweat and of Rowan, and in a moment I'm lost.