4. Wendy

What's happening to me?

Stabbed, carried away, stranded with two madmen, and now strummed like an instrument in front of two more, inexplicably and painfully aroused, his knowing fingers pushing me over the edge so easily.

Fine, I've only been with three guys total since I moved to town, but truth is, not one of them has managed to make me come.

And this Peter is a bastard. I shove back at him but he only chuckles low, a dark, delicious sound that makes me clench again.

"Let go!" I shove back again. "Damn you, let me go!"

Christ. I'm in shock, I'm most definitely in shock.

His hand withdraws from between my legs and his weight lifts off my back, but his long fingers close around my wrist and he hauls me behind him, back toward the house.

"This is a dream," I whisper, my voice breaking. I'm wet between my legs, and I can still feel his finger pushing into me. "Just a dream."

"This is real," he says, dragging me down the steps, pulling me inside and throwing me back on the sofa. "Though it's built from dreams."

Not sure how his words make any sense. "You said it's my dream earlier," I whisper.

Only one way to find out, right?

I pinch myself, as hard as I can.

And… ouch. I felt that. Ow. I rub at the reddened skin, still breathing hard from everything that happened—being hauled here, having Peter catch me and then bring me off so roughly against the wall, with everyone watching.

Oh God…

This isn't a dream, only it really looks like one. In fact, it looks…

I climb back to my feet, looking wildly around, even as the other guys come down into the underground house. I know… I know this place, too.

"Shit," I mutter. "Shit!"

"What?" It's the copper-head, the crazy one with the short sword, who enters first, his worn gray jeans hanging low on his narrow hips, his scuffed army boots thumping on the floor. His t-shirt is a soft blue and clings to his ripped chest distractingly. "Who shit in our house?"

I roll my eyes at him. "This place feels familiar."

"Oh, stop worrying your head over that or you'll go mad, too." He grins as he stalks over to me and stops in front of me. "Hi. Name's Tink. Tink Bell."

"Wendy," I say automatically, caught short by his looks. "Wendy Darling."

"A Darling Wendy." He grins wider, that manic glint showing again in his eyes—and what eyes they are. A deep green, bottle-green, but calling them that wouldn't do them justice. They're gorgeous, bright and fringed with long lashes.

And his hair… It's a light copper with pink streaks. Interesting choice.

But it's not just the colors, it's the shapes that turn him into a kind of forest god—that shapely mouth, always talking and grinning, those high cheekbones, that square jaw, those dimples in his cheeks.

I"m staring and I can't stop. I can't help myself, he's so pretty.

One of the twins comes to shove him aside—they have to be twins because their strong bodies and handsome faces are copies of each other, though their colors are strangely reversed—and he shoves right back with a snarl, his grin vanishing.

"Wait for your turn, Wes."

"You were taking way too fucking long," Wes snarls right back, and I find myself gaping at him.

At both twins.

Definitely mirror images of each other, they're both tall and strong, more whipcord than muscular, leaner than Peter, and yet with shoulders broader than Tink's. They both have gorgeous faces with Roman noses and hard jaws, eyes like fire.

But Wes, the one growling at Tink right now, has short blond hair, longer bangs falling in eyes like old gold.

Whereas his brother who's standing behind him, strong arms crossed over his chest and a sardonic smile on his lips, has long dark hair pulled back in a man-bun and dark eyes that glint dangerously.

And then it hits me again that these guys, all these handsome, strange men, they were there as Peter pressed me to the wall and got me off.

Did I moan loud enough to be heard?

Did they realize what was happening?

Of course they did. Now my face is burning. My chest feels too tight.

The dark twin advances on me, grabs my wrist before I can flee—though, where, I don't know—and hauls me against his tall, hard body.

"A Wendy," he says with a half-smile curling up one side of his mouth. A strand of hair has escaped his bun and clings to his strong jaw, his long neck.

"Wendy Darling," his brother provides, returning my attention to him. "Fitting, right, Colt?"

Colt, then, is the dark one's name. His smile spreads. "A Darling, huh?"

I pull my hand away but his grip only tightens. "Who are you guys?" I whisper. "What is this place?"

"Didn't Pan tell you? This is Neverland."

"Never heard of such a place."

"It doesn't exist in time," Colt says. "Never, got it? A place outside of time."

I shake my head. "You're crazy. All of you. I'm going home."

This time when I yank my hand away, Colt releases me and I stumble around him, around them, heading once more toward the door.

Peter makes a low growling sound in his throat, like an animal. "What did I say?" His voice comes distorted to my ears as I open the door once more. "What did I say about running away? Tink. Get her."

I barely manage a step outside, when a whirlwind catches me and hauls me back inside, slamming me down onto the frigging sofa and caging me with his arms.

Tink. That's who the whirlwind is.

Gone is the prettiness and playfulness from his face, replaced by an ugly sneer, a fanged mouth and… are those wings rising over his shoulders?

Gossamer,I think, stunned, taut blue silk with purple and golden veins.

Like an evil fairy, a goblin of myth, a delicate gargoyle about to tear me to shreds.

Oh God, this is it. It's done. I've gone off the deep end.

"Caught," he breathes and licks his lips, his eyes gone slitted and dark, his ears twitching—pointed and sort of tufted. He arches like a big cat, then presses down, grinding his body on top of mine, a hard rod of arousal rubbing over my belly, up, between my breasts. "Caught, my Darling. Oh, yeah."

Panting, I manage to move, placing my hands on his chest and pushing—but his chest is hard like a wall of stone under my palms, hard planes of muscles curving under the worn fabric, and my fingers helplessly follow them.

Then he distracts me more. He lowers himself until his hard-on presses right between my legs and it feels so good, I moan.

Caught, like he said.

Caught in the moment, in the pleasure, in the feel of this inhumanly beautiful man on top of me, his aura of danger and magic slamming into me, making my nipples stiff and my belly clench.

Even the pink streaks in his hair have turned to black, I realize. He bends his head over mine and he licks at my lips, a rough swipe, a groan escaping him.

"She tastes good," he rumbles, "Peter, listen, I think—"

A force lifts him off me and sends him flying, crashing into the far wall.

I scream, sitting up, flailing as I try to move away, not sure where I could go.

Then I glance at Tink and I scream again because he's sprawled on his back on the floor, face rolled to the side and his eyes wide open, unblinking, staring right at me.

"Is he dead?" I breathe. "Did you kill him? Oh, my God, you killed him!"

"He doesn't get to touch you without my say-so," Peter growls. He's standing there, looking more like an animal than a man, teeth bared, tattooed hands clenched into fists, eyes flashing, more wolf-like than ever. I swear his canines are too sharp for a human.

Then again, these guys aren't human, are they? It's starting to dawn on me that wherever I am, it isn't in my world. I'm in frigging deep trouble.

"You killed him," I whisper.

"Did I?"

I glance again at Tink and start when I notice his hand twitch. Then I realize that his eyes have closed and his chest seems to be rising and falling.

Oh, thank God. I slump back in relief.

Though, why should I care if they kill each other? I shouldn't. I can't. It doesn't matter where I am or why. I need to find someone who will help me get away.

There's that ruined town we passed by. I just need to sneak out when they are asleep—assuming they sleep—and find a person who will tell me how to get back home.