Vicious as a Darling (Daughters of Neverland Book 1) Read online

  Vicious as a Darling

  Daughters of Neverland Book One

  Kendra Moreno

  Copyright

  Please do not participate in piracy.

  Copyright © 2020 by Kendra Moreno

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Dani Black

  Cover art by Ruxandra Tudorica with Methyss Art

  Formatted by Nicole JeRee at The Swamp Goddess

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kendra Moreno

  Author’s Note

  This series is a spin-off series from the Sons of Wonderland, and while you don’t have to read the Sons of Wonderland first, there will be some cameos from those characters. If you want to make sure you don’t miss any details, be sure to read Mad as a Hatter (Sons of Wonderland Book One) first.

  For everyone who would have taken Peter’s hand just for an escape.

  I see you. You matter.

  Prologue

  FIVE YEARS B.C. (BEFORE CHOOSING)

  I sit up suddenly from my bed, feeling as if someone is watching me, waiting. The feeling crawls over my skin until goosebumps rise, until my hair at the base of my neck stands on end. I glance over at Michael and John where they sleep, the room too cold with the harsh winter. Mother must have forgotten to stoke the fire before she retired for the evening, the whole house is so cold I could see my breath in the air if it wasn’t so dark. The only light penetrating the room is from the full moon outside the window, the pale light drawing shadows as giants rather than harmless objects.

  In the next bed over, Michael’s breath wheezes out, rattling his chest with the sounds of sickness. My little brother isn’t having the best winter, always being sick with one thing or another. This one seems more serious, but Mother insists it’s nothing to worry about. But I’m not a child anymore. I’m nearly a woman at the age of sixteen, and I’m not stupid. I’ve watched the doctor’s face when he comes to check on my little brother. He never looks happy, but his expression is always solemn when he returns and Michael isn’t better, or even steady. No, his rattling cough is much worse than it’d been a month ago.

  I’m terrified my baby brother will die from something so simple as a cold, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  John has taken his worry about his brother and turned into a troublesome child, no matter how much I try to contain him. Father blames me when he gets in trouble during his studies, when he gets angry and shouts. I’ve tried explaining it’s nothing more than his sadness taking hold, that he’s trying to find an outlet for it, but Father doesn’t understand. He never does. Our parents are only parents because society dictated they should be. Neither truly has any interest in their children. Neither would truly care if we disappeared. They’d probably prefer it. After all, nothing would make them the center of attention quite as much as losing their three children.

  Determining nothing is amiss in our room, I lay back down against my lumpy bedding, pulling the comforter up to my chin, but I think better of it immediately. If it continues to get colder in the room, Michael will suffer most. I slip from my small bed and over to his, offering my warmth. He’s barely nine years old, far too young to be so close to death, and I’m determined to save him.

  I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, his skin so cold, it sends a violent shiver through my body. He coughs, the sound jolting in the near silence, and that’s when I hear it.

  Something in the room shifts.

  Slowly, I turn my head, and find a shape up in the corner of the ceiling. It appears as nothing more than a shadow, just something casting a strange shape on the wall, but when it moves, the scream that threatens to spill out gets stuck in my throat. The shadow creature dances around on all fours, climbing along the walls, moving closer. Two small pinpricks of red serve as its eyes. Evil! My mind screams. It’s evil! I clench my hands around Michael harder, glancing over at John who’s too far away. If the creature lunges towards us, I won’t be able to move fast enough to save him. I open my mouth to shout for my parents but snap it shut. They’ll be no help. Mother takes a tonic to help her sleep, and Father probably isn’t even home. He never is anymore. No, we’re on our own.

  “Don’t worry,” a voice calls, and I jerk my eyes to the window, now standing wide open. “He won’t hurt you.”

  A boy stands on the windowsill, the frigid air coming in dropping the room even lower in temperature. He appears around the same age as I am, his face still full of boyish delight. Ginger curls topple over his forehead, his jawline sharp, even in his youth. He’s wearing some odd green outfit, something I can’t place.

  “Who are you?” I whisper, not daring to move. The shadow creature still dances around, but it doesn’t come any closer. “And what is that?”

  “That’s just my shadow.” He’s so cavalier it almost puts me at ease. It would if it wasn’t for the soft growl which comes from the shadow creature’s mouth. It reminds me of the rabid dog we’d had in our neighborhood once, the way it growled when someone got too close. It had ended up attacking a little girl who later died from the rabies. Perhaps, the shadow is not on as tight of a leash as this boy wants us to believe.

  “But who are you?” I ask again, when he doesn’t answer. Michael shifts in my arms but doesn’t wake up. The poor child is so exhausted, sleeping most times to catch up on the energy he lost.

  The boy tilts his head at me, the shadow creature mimicking the motion in a disturbing way, and smiles, but it doesn’t put me at ease. No, it cranks up my anxiety even more. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yes, I would. That’s why I asked. You’re in my bedroom, at night, and you came in through the window. There’s also some sort of scary shadow creature on my wall watching me, and I think it’s the devil. There are many things wrong with those statements.”

  The boy steps down from the windowsill, and I jerk upright, blocking his view of my little brother. He stops, his eyes taking in first myself and Michael, and then dancing over to John. “There are three of you,” he comments, and something glints in his eyes. Excitement? Is he excited?

  Slowly, my hand creeps towards the small baseball bat leaning against the wall, the one I’d scolded John for using inside earlier. He’d left it here, his penchant for never picking up his toys coming in handy. “I want you to leave.” My eyes flick to the shadow creature, still perched o
n the wall. “And take your monster with you.”

  “You’d ask me to go, even if I offer you an escape?” He glances towards Michael as another rattling breath wheezes from his chest. “Even if I could offer you a solution to the sickness?”

  “You won’t even tell me your name. Why should I trust you?”

  He raises his brow, his face taking on a mischievous light, and I can tell he may be trying to appeal to my empathy, but he’s very much still dangerous. “Peter,” he says. “My name’s Peter.”

  “Well, Peter, I don’t know why you’re here, but I would still really like you to leave.”

  In the bed next to me, John shifts and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The creature on the ceiling growls, waking him up the rest of the way. John makes a stifled sound of distress, leaping from his bed to ours. Michael still doesn’t wake up, even as John clings to me, shifting the bed around. “Wendy, what’s going on?” he whispers, his eyes wide as he looks at the shadow and Peter.

  “Shh,” I reassure him, even though I’m not sure that everything will be alright. “Just stay close.”

  “There’s a place where time stands still, where you never have to grow up.” Peter’s eyes flick to the sleeping form of Michael. “Where there is no sickness or natural death. I could take you there.”

  “And what’s this place called?” I ask.

  A wicked grin pulls at his lips, and I forget the shadow creature for a moment. Peter is exactly the type of boy Mother warned me away from, the kind who would cause scandal. I can’t help the dangerous intrigue that pulls at me. “Neverland,” he answers. “I can take you there. All three of you.” His eyes shift between us, but he ultimately meets mine again, and focuses all his attention on me. “Come away with me, Wendy Darling.”

  No matter how tempting, we can’t just leave our parents, our home. It wouldn’t be right or proper. I’m already shaking my head, preparing to say no, when John slips his hand into mine.

  “He said there’s not sickness or death, Wendy,” he whispers.

  “I know, but we can’t leave.”

  “If we don’t, Michael is going to die.”

  “I will warn you,” Peter interrupts, watching intently, “just because there is no natural death or sickness, Neverland is still a dangerous place. You must agree completely for me to take you there. I can’t take the unwilling.”

  “What do you mean dangerous?”

  “Creatures, pirates, pixies, and other monsters. Neverland has it all, and each one can slaughter you as if you’re nothing more than paper.”

  His words touch some dark fancy inside me, some adventurous side I never even knew was there. Pixies? Pirates? That sounds exciting. “Why us?” I ask. “Is there a reason?”

  Another wicked smile. “Something tells me Neverland needs you, Wendy, so here we are.” His eyes flick to my brothers. “I’m willing to take all three of you, if you say yes.”

  “Can you promise Michael won’t die from this sickness?” I ask, holding on to him. I care so much for my brothers. We’re all each other truly has. “Can you promise he’ll be okay?”

  Peter hesitates, and I know the next words out of his mouth must be taken with a grain of salt. “I promise your brother won’t die from the cough.” The unspoken words hang in the air; there are other things he could die from.

  The shadow leaps from the wall and crawls closer to Peter. I watch in horror as it seems to attach itself to his feet, becoming his shadow again.

  I stare into Peter’s eyes, searching for answers and finding none.

  “Michael will be alright here,” I say out loud, but even as I say them, I know the words are false. Michael is dying. I know it. My parents know it. And still no one helps him.

  “He won’t be,” John argues, repeating what’s in my mind. “You know he won’t be.”

  John is only thirteen and already he knows so much, growing up far too fast, as we all have. We try to keep Michael young, to allow him the childhood we hadn’t been afforded. To not go to this place, where he’ll live indefinitely, would be cruel, and I can’t leave him here to die, not if I’m able to help.

  I take a deep breath and lean down, gently shaking Michael’s shoulder. “Michael, sweetheart, wake up. We have to go.”

  A rattling cough shakes from his chest as he rolls and looks up into my eyes. As sick as he is, his eyes remain bright and innocent, the bright blue color that all Darlings have staring up at me. “Where are we going, Wendy?” His voice is weak and rough, a side effect of the sickness.

  I meet John’s eyes for a moment before looking back at Peter, not sure what to say. I don’t want to scare him or cause undue worry. Little boys don’t want to be afraid, especially ones who know nothing but fear.

  Peter waits patiently, but when I don’t speak, he moves forward, and Michael’s eyes jumps to his. Peter kneels beside the bed, his face softer than it had been when talking with me.

  “We’re going on an adventure, Michael.” He meets my eyes. “We all are.”

  When he offers his hand for me to take, I slowly slide mine into his warm palm.

  Something in my heart tells me this is the right thing to do, but I didn’t know what I would find heading into the second star to the right and straight on until morning. I didn’t know what was waiting for me in Neverland.

  If I had, I might have never taken Peter’s hand.

  Chapter One

  “Man your stations, men!” I shout, my hands clasped around the wheel. The seas are rough today, not unusual in Neverland, but it has come on without warning. Normally, we can watch as the storm clouds roll in, as the sea begins to churn, as the wind picks up and our hats are in danger of being sacrificed to the sea creatures. Today, the waves hit so suddenly, it has thrown us all off our feet, nearly tossing some of my crew from the ship itself. Being in the waters of Neverland is never a good thing. There are too many dangers here, and while we know what to expect, it doesn’t mean we’re safe. No, it’s best to never set foot in the oceans, if we can avoid it.

  A large crack of lightning streaks across the sky, nearly striking the main sail, and I grit my teeth against my worry. The storm isn’t what makes my heart race; no, something is wrong with Neverland, and the electricity in the air makes my hair stand on end, as if telling me something big is coming.

  The only reason we’re even still sitting in the ocean and not anchored behind the natural wave breaks is because it’s time for Peter to bring a new child. We must stay out here all day, waiting for the moment he decides to drop in with a different frightened kid. He doesn’t always show up, and lately, he’s shown up even less. Not all children Peter brings end up on my crew, or within the safety of the Daughters’ people. Some never make it past the first step. Either way, we must wait to be sure. Peter always drops the new children on my ship before anywhere else.

  “You’re the softest of the Daughters,” Peter had once told me. That had been his reason for bringing the children to me first. I’d held my blade against his throat for saying such words, but he’d only smiled, because he was correct. Being the softest Daughter doesn’t necessarily mean I’m soft, however. It’s easy to be soft compared to Tiger Lily and Tink. I started as a Daughter of another world. Tink and Tiger Lily were born of Neverland and have all the brutality that comes along with it. I’m still a little bit human.

  Last cycle, Peter had arrived with a young boy – we hardly ever got girls – who had immediately taken to life aboard the Jolly Roger. Anthony was small for his age of thirteen, far scrawnier than he should have been, but he’s already proven he’s a hard worker. Already, after a few weeks of hard work and regular meals, his body is starting to fill out, his muscles growing under the labor of cleaning the deck and helping move crates around the ship. He looks less like a skeleton now and more like a pirate. Someone had given him new clothes, and while they hung off him, it was easy to see that eventually, he would fill them out with pride.

  I hold the helm steady, fighting
against the violent waves, watching the skies the moment it opens, and rain pours forth like a waterfall. The blistering heat of the water soaks into my clothing quickly, my hat just barely keeping it from running into my eyes. I sigh. Can this day get any worse?

  My men rush around the ship, securing anything loose, wrapping ropes around their waists to avoid an accidental tumble over the side. The seas are dangerous on a clear day; they’re deadly during a storm.

  I watch through the pounding rain as Anthony rushes across the deck, chasing something that rolls freely. With a start, I realize there’s no rope tied around his waist, nothing securing the lightweight child to the Jolly Roger.

  “Someone grab Anthony!” I shout, but I already know I’m too late.

  The moment the words leave my lips, a massive wave sideswipes my ship, sending her violently to the side. I wait for her to barrel roll, to dunk us all beneath the waves, to put us all in danger. My crew clutch tightly to anything they’re close to, ropes saving more than a few men, but Anthony wasn’t secured before we lurched sideways. I watch in horror as he’s thrown into the air, a hoarse scream on his lips.

  “Grab him!” my crew shouts, echoing my earlier sentiment. I watch everyone close enough reach out in an attempt to grab the boy, trying to stop his trajectory. Every single hand misses, and as the Jolly Roger corrects herself, Anthony tumbles right over the balustrade and into the violent churning sea.