17. Wendy

These people are off their rockers.

Placing themselves between cannibal mermaids and nightmarish monsters? Oh, and doing so alongside their sworn enemy gang, hoping nobody will change their mind and attack?

And oh boy, did they attack.

The monsters did, that is.

Having the gall to look surprised, Tink hauls me away from the rock and the beach, heading back into the woods while the Twins lead the monsters away.

I try not to worry that we won't make it, that the Twins won't make it, that some of the monsters will notice the ruse and come our way, that the mermaids can shapeshift like their queen and walk on dry land, pick us up one by one and snack on us.

What's stopping them, right? Something's got to be stopping them or everyone on the island would be history by now.

Unless, like Tink said, the island is changing… But nobody batted an eye when the Queen shifted, so I guess that was normal?

Jesus, I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know what I know. It's like being dropped on another planet and trying to figure it all out without a manual and special black-ops training.

"Pick up your pace," Tink hisses. My arm hurts where he's gripping me, his fingers like steel, digging into my flesh. "We're not out of the woods yet."

"The house is in the woods."

"I was figuratively speaking," he snaps. "Where is Peter? Peter!"

With a roar, Peter slams himself into a tree, then takes two steps back and does it again.

And again.

"What the fuck?" Tink drags me over even though I dig my heels in, trying to hang back. He grabs Peter's shoulder. "Stop!"

Blood is running down Peter's face. He blinks at Tink as if he doesn't know him, then blinks again and I see horror dawning on his face.

It's gone in a flash.

Or maybe I was wrong. After all, though the sky is still raining stars, it's quite dark under the sparse foliage.

It's impossible not to notice, though, that Tink keeps his grip on Peter's shoulder as we trudge down the path and that Peter allows it as if he isn't too sure he can stay on his feet, or on the path, without help.

"What happened?" I demand, now that the woods are quiet and I don't hear anything trampling the undergrowth. "I thought you said it would be safe, that it's this… anniversary thing."

"It is. It was supposed to be," Tink says through gritted teeth. "Fuck, I still don't know what happened."

"You were too trusting," I mutter. "Never trust the monsters."

"I should print that on a T-shirt," Tink mutters back.

"It's her," Peter says and his voice is slightly slurred.

"Are you drunk?" I demand. "Or stoned? Maybe you're high. What did you smoke?"

He ignores me. Staggers a little. "The Twins."

"They'll be all right," Tink says.

"Against all of the Reds and the mermaids?" Peter sounds angry.

"A little late to think of them now," Tink grinds out, "but for what it's worth, I saw Hook's gang get between the Twins and the Reds."

Peter blinks. "What? Why?"

"Maybe Hook grew a conscience overnight?" Tink suggests. "What do you think?" When Peter doesn't reply, he sighs. "Yeah, too implausible. Maybe the anniversary magic still works on him, making him an ally just for tonight?"

"That's more probable," Peter agrees, rubbing at his forehead and groaning.

What a nonsensical, surrealist twist in a nonsensical, surrealist world. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, only the cute animals are crazed, sexy dudes.

"Why are you enemies with Jas?" I ask.

"Oh, are you on a first-name basis with Hook, now?" Tink whistles. "What aren't you telling us?"

"Be serious for once," I snap.

"Ow." Tink winces. "Not you, too. Peter's been rubbing off on you and not in a sexy way."

"Shut up, Tink," Peter mutters. "And as for Hook… for Jas… I thought you knew by now. He wants the throne."

"But you won't give it up?" I hazard.

He sighs. "I would if I could. They made me into their king. And I can't fucking escape. A king. Ha. ‘Pan.' You know? Like pantheon, like pandemic, like panorama."

"Like panetone," Tink supplies, hauling us both along. "And panties."

Peter ignores him. "Pan. It means everything. King of everything and nothing, King of now and never. A prisoner."

"And who is ‘they'?" I whisper.

"The Dark Fae. Lords of the otherworld. Masters of nightmares." He shrugs as we stumble down the path. "The ones who invited me here, who raised me."

So I ask the logical thing. "If you are their king, how come you're a prisoner?"

"I pissed them off."

"Really?" I almost sigh. "How strange. How?"

"I tried to kill them."

That's a fun twist. "What, all of them?"

"The one who had me in his clutches."

"Not a smart move," I murmur.

"Pain drives you mad sometimes," Tink says.

I turn to him. "Pain?"

"I'm not Fae," Peter says. "This place hurts."

"Is that why the other Wendies went mad?"

He shrugs. "You will follow them soon enough."

"Great." I roll my eyes, fighting a twitch of fear. "Shouldn't I be feeling pain then?"

"You don't?" Tink whispers. His brows go up. "Wendy…"

They both stop and stare at me.

I stare back. "Should I be?"

"Damn." Tink starts walking again, pulling us along, his expression closing up. "Come on."

"She doesn't feel it," Peter is whispering, like a lost child. "She doesn't—"

"After everything, that shocks you?" Tink snaps, anger in his voice, as if he hadn't been staring at me, dumbfounded, mere seconds ago. "You keep saying she is the one and then that she isn't. You forbid us to touch her, then fuck her. The anniversary truce was broken for the first time in centuries. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"You tell me. I thought maybe I'm dreaming," Peter says. "Or hallucinating. Wouldn't be the first time. Maybe I'm in my bed at the house, imagining I found a pretty girl who can change everything."

"But you're not," Tink says, "and as for what she can do… nobody yet knows."

* * *

"No, you can't!"I fight Tink with all I have but his strength is a hundred times mine. "You can't tie me up on the bed again!"

"Watch me."

"Why, Tink?"

"I'm beat," he says, his voice flat. "Can't be running around in the night, looking for you, searching for your remains and having to wonder if it was a mermaid or a Red that ate you."

"I won't run."

"No, now you won't, because you won't be able to, all tied up as you are." He leans over me, licks his lips, his gaze traveling over my dress, my body. "I guess it's a free for all now. Yes, I am talking about you."

"I'm not!"

He lifts a dark brow. "Why, don't you like the thought of all four of us fucking you?"

I lick my dry lips. "Is that your way of punishing me?"

"Whether you're the right girl or not, we can't get attached to you. So we have to punish you," he'd said.

"It's a way of pleasing myself," he says.

"You're selfish."

A shrug. "I'm Fae."

"Half-Fae."

His gaze darkens. "And you're a stupid girl."

"Am I now?"

"You can't help us. Never could. And Peter is all caught up in you that he forgets himself."

"He forgets a lot of things," I whisper.

"And the Twins," he goes on as if he hasn't heard me. "They're troubled."

"Oh, is that what we're calling psychos now? Men who fuck a woman with their guns? Troubled?"

"I'm not talking about that." He waves a slim hand.

"What then?"

"The way they act around you. So… careful."

I stare at him. "Careful? This is their careful? What do they normally do?"

He snorts. Says nothing.

I try a different tack. "Please, Tink." I don't even know why I'm asking him. He's an ass. "Please, let me go. I want to go home. I have to."

Still silent, he turns to go.

"You said it yourself so many times," I call after him. "I can't help you!"

"It's not decided yet. You do… strange things to this island. Maybe you just need training."

"You mean punishment?"

"Sometimes," he says darkly, the edge of a grin in his voice, "they're one and the same."

* * *

He closesthe door behind him as he leaves and silence spreads in the room. I tug on my bonds, my wrists chafing, but nothing gives.

I roll my head to the side. So tired. The night is rising around me, rolling over the windows. Sleep rushes over me like dark water. I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep after everything that has happened, but my body and mind are hanging on by a hair and will have to let go.

I slip into deep, right into the black water that haunts my memories. The cold grips me instantly, inside and out, and I'm shivering, flailing, screaming in the water.

Shapes flash in the deep, reaching for me, and I struggle harder.

But then… something catches my ankle and yanks, and suddenly all the fight drains out of me.

This time, I let myself go. I don't fight it anymore.

I let myself sink into the dark water.

Down and down I go, past kelp forests and rockeries, past coral walls and silvery shoals of fish. I feel the sea shift around me, the memory changing—and then I'm not being dragged down but up, toward the surface, a hand gripping my wrist instead of my ankle.

I'm lifted up into the light and a familiar face leans over me.

"Wendy?"

I think it's Peter at first—it's Peter I expected to see for some weird reason, pulling me out of the water—but it's actually Colt.

I jerk back but I'm still tied to the bed, my heart thudding. "What do you want?"

Morning is dawning outside, I realize, light spilling through the slats of the window. Behind Colt, I see Wes. I don't think I've ever seen them apart.

They both gaze down at me, eyes dark and lips parted.

I take a deep breath, trying to slow my racing pulse. "Untie me, Colt."

"I think he likes you tied up," Wes says with a grin.

"It seems you all do." My mouth is bone dry. "What about what I want?"

"I know what you want," Colt says and climbs onto the bed.

"Not your gun." I shake my head, my heart thumping. "Colt, no."

"Relax." Up close, he smells of cordite and sex, sweet and smoky and musky. "I've used my gun enough for one day already. Shot all those Reds down."

"Colt," I start again, but he has spread my legs and buried his face between them. Since I was never given any panties to wear, his mouth is right on my spread, bare pussy.

Whatever words were about to spill from my lips—another demand for him to untie me—are lost in a moan when his tongue flickers over my clit, then stabs into me.

"God…" I arch on the bed, twisting my hands in their bonds, as he tortures me deliciously, licking at me like a big cat, long swipes of his rough tongue, each one bringing me closer to a precipice I hadn't anticipated reaching so fast.

I moan, twist, lift my hips, trying to get more pressure, more friction where I'm burning—

And Wes shoves Colt aside, tumbling him onto the bed. "My turn." He spreads my legs more, flickers his tongue over my clit, circles it.

He presses his lips there and sucks.

Jesus.

He sucks and teases and sucks some more, taking me right there, to the very edge—and then pulls back.

"Please," I gasp, "oh God, please—"

"Fuck." Wes fumbles with his fly, frees his cock and settles between my legs.

The head of his cock nudges at my entrance, then pushes into me in one long thrust, making me cry out in shock but also relief. He's bowed over me, bright blond hair falling in his eyes, gaze intense, burning, focused on my lips.

Just when I think he's going to kiss me, Colt comes to stand beside the bed, freeing his hard cock. Even as Wes' cock fills me up so completely, I can hardly breathe, the sight of Colt's cock makes my mouth water.

"Open up like a good girl," he growls. "Take it. Take it all."

And I do. God help me, I do, and I love it, even as I choke on his fat girth. Salt and musk fill my senses as his swollen, hard flesh fills my mouth. It's an echo of when they fucked me with their guns, I realize, and yet it's so different, and oh God…

Is it wrong to be so wet and aching because two hot guys are using me at the same time for their pleasure? It is wrong to like it so much?

Is it wrong to feel the pleasure rush through me as I give head to Colt and get fucked by Wes, both of them grunting as they thrust into me?

My eyes roll back in my head a little as I start to come and Colt grunts, his cock jerking inside my mouth. Hot, salty cum spills down my throat, and I choke as more pleasure rushes through me.

Wes yells something I can't make out through the rushing of blood in my ears and I'm still swallowing Colt's release when Wes slams into me once, twice, hard enough to bruise, and gasps.

Marked twice.

By the time they both pull out of me, dark spots dance in my vision and my bound wrists burn almost as much as my well-used pussy, but through the deafening sound of my pulse inside my head, I hear a dark chuckle.

"I came to offer breakfast," Tink says, "but I see that's been taken care of already. Maab's tits, you guys are sick. Get off her before Peter sees you."

"I thought I was a free for all," I mutter.

"Not until Peter officially says so."