16. Wes

The night sky is alight with shooting stars and the sea is swirling with luminescent jellyfish and strings. We're standing on the Rock gazing down at the waves. It's damn beautiful but it won't last.

The mermaids are coming.

The Reds are already there, lurking in the woods behind us, and I do my fucking best not to shake in my boots at the thought of their proximity.

This isn't a normal night, I remind myself. It's the anniversary. They will honor it.

So far, they always have. No reason why that should change. So I try to ignore the way the scars on my back hurt from the first time I was attacked by one, before I knew to never let my guard down, to have eyes on the back of my head, to not trust innocent-looking ruins.

Nightmares can spring out of anywhere on this island.

On an island already full of nightmares.

The presence of the Reds nearby always has me nervous, even with the truce. Not as nervous as the mermaids, but still, the Reds are the more immediate threat, on solid ground, always coming at us, always ready to kill.

One fucking strange thing? The Reds have faces now. And by now, I mean since Wendy arrived. Distorted and yet human faces.

Their parts turned to metal, too, transforming them into giant cyborgs. When the change came, we knew that a new Wendy had been born—and still we couldn't know it was the right one.

There can only be one and I never could figure out whether that meant that the rest of them were decoys for us to smash our heads against or just candidates who never reached their potential, who knows why.

Anyway, I'm on edge, my hand on the gun handle, my eyes scanning the sea, my ears straining for any sound from the woods behind us. Hook and his gang haven't shown up yet.

And then I feel her approaching.

Wendy.

Colt glances at me. He's felt it, too. Of course he has. We're linked in strange ways. Sharing a shadow means sharing all sensations, emotions, and yet…

And yet we're night and day, light and dark. He's the rough one, the unhinged one, the one who will grab a girl by the hair as I kiss her, who will fuck her ass as I caress her pussy, who will spank and lash her while I fuck her mouth.

Who do you think is the human and who is the Fae?

Go on, guess.

Sometimes I'm not even sure myself. Especially since the memories I have from my childhood are all mixed up, fuzzy and grainy like old film strips.

It isn't only Peter's memory that's affected by the island. He's just hit the worst. With great power comes great pain. And madness.

Always madness.

I turn and watch them arrive. Tink is dragging Wendy along, a thundercloud on his face, and she's…

She's beautiful.

In a short white dress, so innocent and pure even as it hugs her curves, hinting at all that is underneath. Her hair falls on her shoulders, a fall of gold, and her eyes are wide, her mouth an unhappy line.

Yeah, she's perfect.

"Is she giving you trouble?" Peter drawls, not even taking his eyes off the heaving, glowing sea.

"Screw you," she hisses, trying to yank her arm free of Tink's hold.

"Punishment will have to wait for later," Peter says.

"What do you mean? Let me go!" She kicks at Tink's shin and he curses, hauling her to the edge of the rock, where we're standing.

"Little hellcat," he mutters, coming to stand beside me.

Her cheeks are red, chest heaving. She is angry, and afraid, and confused, and my dick is so damn hard my head is spinning from all the blood rushing south.

"I'll punish her," I rasp.

"Out of the question," Tink says. "It's my turn."

Peter says nothing, so fuck, I guess it is Tink's turn. Fucker. I glare at him and he grins back at me, all teeth. Even half a Fae, he's got power enough to make me reconsider punching his handsome face.

Tink is… unlike any man I've ever known. Mercurial, pretty but not in a girly way, his jaw too square and his body too broad and masculine for that comparison. We've never fucked, but I can't deny I want him.

It gets lonely in between Wendies, especially with Peter gone for long periods hunting for them, and being stuck on the island means the only people I get to spend time with are Colt and Tink.

And Tink is still a mystery to me. I sometimes wonder if he has sexual urges at all or if he only feeds off violence.

He does like punishing girls. The Fae side of him craves it. Maybe almost as much as Peter craves it, though it's different. Peter is different when his shadow takes over him. His shadow changes him.

Tink is like that all the time, torn between what he craves and what his human side abhors.

Almost like me and Colt—only we are two people. His conflict rages inside of him. He's a puzzle of a man, threatening to split down the middle. Colt and me? We're already apart, and yet we keep colliding together.

"Here they come," Peter says, breaking through my spiraling thoughts, and I blink at the sea.

At first, I don't see anything out of order. The waves sparkle as they crash against the rocks, the bioluminescent spreading through the white lace of the foam. But the Reds behind us growl and rustle, and then I see them.

The mermaids are swimming toward the shore, silvery shapes breaking the waves, riding over them, slicing through them like eels, tails occasionally splashing against the surface of the water.

Their song rises, strident and yet melodious, tugging on my mind. Beckoning. Alluring and sweet, yet sharp, digging claws into my head.

I take a step closer to the edge.

Colt's hand on my shoulder yanks me back. His breathing is uneven, his eyes a bottomless dark. Does his nature give him better control when it comes to this? Or am I just too distracted?

I'm thinking too hard, that's for sure.

The mermaids are now filling the small bay, heads and torsos rising over the surface, their voices growing louder, a symphony in cacophony, a melody that is so strangely beguiling it confuses the senses, just like their appearance.

When the light strikes their faces, some look like pretty maidens and others like half-rotted corpses, their long hair green and blue and gray, flowing over youthful or sagging or skeletal bodies.

Peter gasps, leaning forward, eyes wide. The call is the strongest for him and I reach for his arm to stop him from falling, extending the favor Colt did me.

Tink is faster, grabbing him and hauling him back. He tells Peter something about getting a grip and staying strong but Peter doesn't seem to hear him.

"What sort of celebration is this, anyway?" Wendy demands, her voice barely audible over the howl of the mermaid song. "I don't like it."

Who does? It's not a celebration but a commemoration, but it doesn't matter either way.

We're not here by choice.

The mermaids sing and sing, and we struggle against the pull of their voices. At some point, I notice Hook and his pirate gang. They're standing some distance back, on the rock behind us.

At least, if the Reds decide to attack, they'll snack on them first.

"The Reds won't attack," Colt says with that uncanny ability of his to read my mind at odd moments. "It's truce day."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, returning my attention to the sea. "As you say."

Then there's nothing more to say because the Mermaid Queen shifts and stands in the shallows on long, pale legs. She is naked, long green hair spilling over her shoulders, her back, and her breasts like a cape. A crown of red coral gleams on her head and her eyes glow like searchlights.

Unnerving.

"Peter Pan!" she calls out, lifting a hand, as if in greeting. An ancient goddess of the sea. A fey creature, one of the rulers of Faerie—and she's been set on Peter since he appeared on the scene of the world.

"Mermaid Queen," he says, not shouting and yet his voice carries over the wind. The song of the mermaids has ceased, at least.

"Have you reconsidered? Will you join us? Will you be our king?"

Peter draws a breath that's strangely loud and shakes his head. "I won't."

"What is holding you back? Soon your mind will be all gone. Anything that ties you to the human world will have faded. You still haven't found the right girl to break the spell. You never will."

"You don't know that," Peter says.

"The girl beside you," the Queen says. "She's as empty of magic as a broken cup trying to contain the ocean. Give her to me and free yourself."

"No," Wendy whispers, her face gone white, "no!"

How isn't she caught by the Queen's spellbinding voice?

"I keep telling him that," Hook's voice echoes. "To give up. Join us."

"James," the Queen says. "James Hook. The Beautiful One. The Terrible One. We brought you here and you're loyal to us to the end. Keeping Neverland safe from the human world incursions. Keeping the nightmares at bay."

"My Queen." Hook bows deep, silver hair sliding forward to hide his face.

Hook is another mystery, a deeper one. Gorgeous like an angel, a traitorous bastard who will battle us at every turn of the way—when we find a Wendy who might save us, when we lower our defenses, when we try to leave the island.

He hates us.

The Queen has given him a gift—that thrice-damned watch he is wearing, a magical tool that protects his mind from Neverland's magic.

So he doesn't forget.

Isn't going mad.

Unlike us.

Which means he has no excuses for being such an asshole. No good excuses, anyway.

I wonder what he's getting out of this. Gold? A retirement plan? A magic reservoir to use once the rest of us have gone mad?

No, he probably wants to be king instead of Peter. Hoping to convince the Queen to step in, once Peter is gone and—

A scream shatters the night, and I draw my gun before my mind catches up with whatever the fuck is going on. Hissing growls and more screams—and fuck me, I hate it when my fears are realized.

"The Reds!" I yell, hating the terror gripping me, the ‘I-told-you-so' clogging my throat. "They're attacking!"

"What the hell." Colt has already drawn his gun and is squinting at the woods behind us. "It's supposed to be a fucking truce!"

Peter snarls, raising his knives, but it's his shadow that's his greatest weapon, expanding behind him like a black mantle.

Tink has grabbed Wendy's arm again, his sword shining in his other hand.

"What have you done?" Hook roars. "Peter, what the fuck have you done?"

"Fuck off, James." Peter breaks into a run toward the woods. "It wouldn't surprise me if this was your doing."

"Only the true Wendy could break such a spell," Hook says, "the spell of the truce," and it gives me pause.

"But Peter has already fucked her!" Tink growls as he drags Wendy behind him, the Reds loping toward us, claws and fangs, rusty metal and rows of shark-like teeth in faces that look disturbingly human.

"Maybe the magic changed," I yell as I lift my gun, take aim and fire. A Red drops to the ground, twitching. "You said the island is changing. How would that be possible if she wasn't the one?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tink says.

"Wes!" Colt shoves me out of the way and shoots one, two, three bullets into a massive Red that skids by, then drops off the cliff into the sea. "Dammit."

"Yeah. We have to go." My fucking heart is slamming about inside my chest. "Let's go!"

"No shit. Peter!" Colt hollers, shooting at another Red coming at us, lifting a handful of bullets from his pocket. "We'll be your distraction. Go!"

No, he's not sacrificing himself to save Peter. Don't mistake this for the sign of a soft heart. Colt is nothing if not pragmatic. Peter is the king and he has Wendy, who may or may not be the one who will save us, so we have to protect them.

We're Peter's bodyguards of sorts and we work great together as a team. Almost like real Twins.

I don't know if Peter hears Colt's shout, but Tink seems to, grabbing both and hauling them toward the west.

"Go!" Colt shouts at me and I start shooting as we run the other way, down the Rock, felling Red after Red as we skid and slide down to the beach.

We won't make it. The Reds have gathered in mass. Killing one of them is hard and messy. Killing hundreds of them?

Impossible.

We're going to die, shredded apart and probably eaten, too.

Not the best way to go.

Grabbing bullets from my pocket, I reload my gun as we run, stumbling over rocks. Mermaids are crawling up the beach, clawed hands reaching for us. One grabs my ankle and I almost go down, managing to stay on my feet at the last moment.

Yanking my leg free, I resume running. My ankle burns. The Reds are thumping down the beach toward us.

Colt turns and fires.

I turn to do the same, lifting my gun, but I don't fire, because... "What in the nine circles of hell?"

Hook's gang is fighting the Reds, forming a river between us and the monsters, flowing into the Reds' mass, hacking them down. They are eerily quiet as they do so, the only noise coming from the Reds who roar and growl and howl.

What is Hook doing? Has he finally lost his mind, too?

"Hook!" I shout. "Hook! What the fuck?"

"Run!" he yells at us, swinging his cutlass, the curved blade flashing through the night as he cuts a Red's arm off. "Run for your lives!"

Colt glances at me. "But you… you're on the mermaids' side! The Reds do their bidding."

"I never had anyone complain to me for saving their life before," Hook says, just loud enough to be heard, a wry note in his voice.

"I don't trust this," I mutter.

"Not all forms of slavery look the same," Hook says, loping off a Red's head.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Hook shoots me a bleak look and doesn't reply, turning to hack at another monster, his men swarming out of the woods to his aid.

So we run.

* * *

We run and run,and when we stop to catch our breath, and Colt grabs me and shoves me against a tree trunk, slamming my back against the rough bark.

He kisses me.

It's as aggressive and violent as he is. He always looks like the thoughtful one, the careful and gentle one, but once he unleashes himself, once his control snaps, he's like a storm rushing over the land.

Over people.

I kiss him back, needing the release as much as he does.

Listen, we're not brothers, even if they call us the Twins. He's my changeling. And I am his. I may never know which way it went—who stole one child and replaced it with the other.

It doesn't even fucking matter anymore.

All the anticipation of the past years and months turning into bitter disappointment once more, all the lust and craving for this new girl that we weren't allowed to fuck, all this fear and frustration and inner fight setting us on edge again and again and again… it has to find an outlet, sooner or later.

And while I'm more into girls, and Wendy is like a hot dessert I can't wait to dive into, ticking all my boxes, triggering all my wants, a hot boy will do in a pinch.

Not just any hot boy.

This one.

Whipcord muscle, big capable hands, a square jaw, a face like a painting by the old masters, one of those Old Testament angels coming to warn Job or whoever it was of the end of the world.

I tangle my fingers in his long, dark hair, tug until he snarls and bites my lower lip, sucking it between his teeth.

Pain for pain. Grip for grip. His hand grabs the back of my head, angles it so he can deepen the kiss.

This is just relief, I tell myself. Nothing else, nothing more, ever. That's our mutual understanding. Sexual relief, a flash of blinding pleasure, a moment to let ourselves go before we snap.

I like the scrape of the rough bark against my back, scratching at my skin through my shirt. I like Colt's strength, his barely leashed aggression. I like that he doesn't hold back with me.

He probably doesn't hold back with anyone.

His chest presses against mine and our cocks grind together through the rough fabric of our pants, hard, unyielding poles. The pleasure, though expected, startles the fuck out of me and I cry out in his mouth.

Too much pent-up need.

His answering groan tells me he feels the same way.

He breaks the kiss and uses both hands to tear my pants open and yank them down, and I fight him to unbuckle his belt and return the favor. He helps me, a low growl showing his displeasure at the delay.

That's how we are when this happens. Impatient. Rushing. Racing toward the end, never stopping to savor it.

Then again, to be fair, it usually happens on the heels of a bad event flooding us with adrenaline, stiffening our dicks, getting us hard and aching. It's never something to ease ourselves into. It's something to get ourselves out of.

"Fuck," he breathes, slamming our bared dicks together, rubbing against me, his hand sliding back up my neck, my throat, gripping my jaw. "Oh, fuck…"

Groaning, I let my head fall back. Why is this such fucking bliss, to thrust against another hard cock, to have a muscular chest pressed to mine? I like many things, I guess, various things. Both soft and hard, both girls and boys.

Above all… I'll take what I can get. This is the most gentleness I've ever had, and Colt doesn't know this, probably wouldn't give a damn, but it's a drug, being held, being touched, like now, when his hold on my jaw relaxes a little and his thumb brushes over my skin.

Hot damn…

It's over quickly. I snap my hips against him, one of my hands leaving bruises on his hip, the other on his shoulder, and the pressure crests, bursting. My dick jerks, spattering our chests with white ropes of cum.

Colt breathes a curse, bows his head and then he's coming, too, his cum crosshatching mine. Long strands of dark hair stick to his sweaty neck and face, his lashes are black fans on his sharp cheekbones. I can't help it.

I kiss him again.

His mouth crashes against mine, no hint of softness, though his thumb keeps caressing my cheek. His lashes don't lift and his eyes… they look soft and unguarded, hazy.

It doesn't last.

Then he's pulling back already, like every time, his gaze sharpening. "We should get going. See if the others made it back okay."

He's right. Colt is not only the violent side of me, he's also the voice of reason. Don't ask how the two mix. It's one of life's great mysteries.

He's right, anyway, so we head home.