Fierce as a Tiger Lily (Daughters of Neverland Book 2) Page 5

  Tink walks before me, silent, her eyes tracing over the newcomers the same as I am, studying them. I don’t know if she’s looking for weaknesses or if she’s weighing just how they can be utilized. Either way, it’s never a good thing to hold the attention of the Pixie for long.

  “We weren’t sure if you were going to make it,” Wendy says, beaming at them all. As Daughters go, Wendy is the perfect bridge between us, her humanity winning them all over easily.

  The redhead, Jupiter, bounces excitedly on her heels, darting from plants and things, plucking specimens to put into vials. When she gets too close to a thorny rose, I reach out quickly and grab her wrist, stopping her just before she can wrap her fingers around the dangerous plant.

  “Not that one,” I warn, raising my brow.

  White frowns but he doesn’t say anything, no doubt used to her antics.

  Jupiter stares in surprise at my hold before she nods her head, accepting my warning. “What does it do?”

  I release her so we can continue walking, watching her carefully in case she decides to reach for another dangerous creature. “Best case, the thorns prick you and you’re trapped in a hallucination for hours.”

  “And worst case?” White asks, staring at the pretty bloom closer.

  I meet his eyes, studying the coiled strength in his shoulders. Wendy hadn’t lied when she said White was handsome. But of course, the most dangerous beings were the most beautiful. “You die,” I say, and turn away, moving forward to take a seat around the campfire Bear has burning in the center of the coven.

  The smell of the meat makes my stomach grumble and I sit beside my head warrior and happily take the chunk he offers me. After a shift of skin, I’m always ravenous, the amount of energy to pull off the transition always hitting hard.

  The second rabbit, the brown one, glances around the Coven curiously, his ears twitching towards sounds just like the creature he takes his features from. He’s handsome in a strange sort of way, dressed in a button-down shirt that feels too proper for Neverland and Wonderland alike. His hair is cut short, but I can tell, if it was allowed to grow, it would curl in large waves. As it is, he only allowed a few inches, and a single open curl hangs over his forehead.

  “March,” Cal shouts to him, drawing his attention. “Do you sense anything in particular?”

  “Only the stale remnants of fading magic and the trembling of fingers releasing their hold.”

  Cal stares at the Hare for a minute and then looks at the Cat, Cheshire. “Did you understand any of that?”

  “Not a word,” Cheshire grumbles and shoots a scowl towards the Hare.

  I’m not sure what he sees, but I can’t seem to look away. Every time I try to focus on something else, my eyes are drawn right back to the March Hare, right to the toxic green eyes he boasts and the chiseled jawline. There’s an air about him, almost like the madness he clearly suffers from is its own aura, and though others might dismiss him for that, I know better. Madness is only a side effect of cleverness, of power, and the March Hare is full of it.

  As if he can sense me looking at him, those vibrant green eyes turn towards me, and his form shifts for a split second. One moment, he’s whole, normal except for the piece missing from his ear. The next, he looks like he’s crawled out of a grave. It’s so fast, I nearly miss it, but it shocks me enough that I blink at the strange man.

  “What in the—”

  “Look once and you’ll see a hare, look twice and I’m no longer there, look thrice and I’m dead, but maybe it’s all inside your head,” he offers as explanation, moving closer to murmur them to me, almost under his breath, and my mouth drops open.

  In all my years, I’d never seen anything quite so. . .unique in Neverland.

  “Are you enchanted?” I tilt my head as he takes a seat on my other side. Bear watches closely, sizing the Hare up, studying him, but he doesn’t say a word. He won’t, not unless I give a sign of being uncomfortable, and I’m not. I’m intrigued, but not uncomfortable.

  “Perhaps,” March offers. “Or perhaps, I’m not here at all.”

  “But I can see you,” I point out, before I go against etiquette and reach out a finger to press against his shoulder. I want to see if I can touch him, further proving he’s here in front of me.

  Quicker than even I can follow, his hand shoots out and clamps around my fingers tightly. It doesn’t hurt, but he holds me just inches from his body, leaning closer and tilting his head like an animal. I can feel the viciousness under his skin, the danger, but he only smiles at me. It should unnerve me, should make me want to pull away. Instead, I study him closer.

  “Touching is a crime because you never know what you’ll find, Skinwalker.”

  I purse my lips. “Do you always speak in riddles and rhymes, Hare?”

  His fingers still hold mine, and with my question, he pulls me closer and presses my hand against his face, rubbing against my skin like he’s a small fuzzy beast. “An unfortunate side effect, I’m afraid. The claws inside me dig in deep enough to change my perceptions.”

  “What claws?”

  “You know, you know, what is it I do, Skinwalker,” he answers, rubbing harder against my hand. For some reason, I let him. “You have the claws, too.”

  I scoot a little closer. “Do you mean darkness?”

  “Darkness. Claws. Madness. Power. All the same just with a different name.” March stops rubbing and looks at me, and that’s when I realize just how close we truly are. Somehow, my thigh is pressed against his, the warmth that seems to seep from him warming me. His face feels like it’s inches from mine, and this close, I realize his eyes aren’t one color of green at all. They closely resemble a swirling galaxy, flecks of various twisted emeralds that seem to dance with a life of their own. He smells like roses and spiced tea, and as I stare at him, he flashes between his normal self and the one he’d called ‘dead’, but I don’t flinch away. That seems to surprise him because he tilts his head and studies me closer. “What do they call you, Skinwalker?”

  “You heard them call me Tiger Lily.”

  “Not your name, Pretty Lily. What do they call you?” The ears on his head twitch, flicking back and forth, listening to the sounds and voices around us. No one is paying us any mind, a fact for which I’m grateful, because for the first time in a long time, I feel disarmed by the Hare holding my hand against his face.

  “Chieftess,” I answer. “Speaker for the land.” I pause. “Monster.”

  He smiles again. “Monster. As if they know what monsters look like.”

  “Do you?” I’m genuinely curious, because in Neverland, we’re all monsters in some way, and though my skin is called the monster more than I am, I still hold the capacity for monstrosity. Just as Tink does. Just as Wendy does. You can’t survive in Neverland without that trait. You can’t remain pure here, though I’m going to try my hardest with Aniya.

  “Of course, I do.” March’s gaze flicks away from me then and I follow it. Jupiter is watching our exchange, the curiosity on her face the same it had been when she was plucking flowers. And then March returns his attention to me. “Monsters look like me.”

  “You don’t look like a monster.”

  “What does a monster look like, Pretty Lily?” he asks. “What makes a monster a monster?”

  I pause. It’s a good question, one I’ve never given any thought to before. “I suppose I don’t know.”

  “You do, Pretty Lily,” he whispers. “And that’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t see me as a monster. It would make it rather difficult to convince you to kiss me if you’re worried about my teeth and claws.”

  I blink and lean back. When I tug my hand, he holds me fast, his strength matching my own, but I know if I truly want him to release me, he will. He watches me closely, waiting for whatever reaction I’ll have towards his words.

  I open my mouth to deny wanting to kiss him at all, but the moment the thought crosses my mind, I taste the lie, and nearly curse out loud. I certa
inly don’t need the distraction the March Hare is offering me.

  “Why exactly are you talking to me?” I ask, raising my brow, changing the subject. “I’ll eat you, rabbit.” The threat hangs in my words, the knowledge that I’ll do it if I sense he becomes a problem, but the Hare surprises me yet again.

  I can feel Bear leaning closer, his heat signature touching my skin the same, as he waits to see whatever it is March will say. I don’t chide him for eavesdropping. We aren’t necessarily trying to be quiet.

  “Been there,” March says flippantly. “Done that. And I’d love for you to eat me, Pretty Lily.”

  I raise my brow and just barely hold back the smile his words elicit. It’s a tough battle because the urge to laugh is strong. Bear, on my opposite side, doesn’t even attempt to hold his laughter in. It roars out of him until he’s doubled over, his arms wrapping around his middle in an attempt to keep it in.

  I catch Wendy’s eyes on the other side of the fire, and though she doesn’t say anything, I can sense her curiosity the same as Jupiter’s. There are too many eyes on us, too much attention, and attention can be just as dangerous as being forgotten.

  This time, when I tug my hand away from his cheek, March lets me, but his eyes glitter dangerously. It seems I found myself a predator. The problem is, I’m no prey.

  But the March Hare already knows that.

  Chapter Nine

  THE MARCH HARE

  Things are clearer in Neverland than they’d been in Wonderland, whatever magic that eats at my soul taking a vacation for the time being. With the haze free of my mind for the time being, I can see the beautiful woman sitting beside me, the one going along with the madness still spilling from my mouth, as if it doesn’t affect her at all. Even when my form shifts, even when I can’t control it, she doesn’t flinch away, and my heart kicks.

  Everyone always flinches.

  But the Skinwalker doesn’t.

  She wears death on her shoulder like a shawl, the knowledge hovering there as if she can control it. Every so often, I can see the yellow power tendrils that lick across her skin. It’s been so long since I’ve pursued a woman, since there’s been one who isn’t scared of the monster I am. With the enchantment I’d been under in Wonderland, I’d been alone in my home for so long, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t, but now, I’m imagining something else.

  I want to see the Pretty Lily bloom beneath me.

  I twitch with the image that pops into my head, and she watches closely, as if she senses what I’m thinking, but she doesn’t pull away. No, her thigh still presses against my own, and though she pulled her hand away, she doesn’t pull away anywhere else. Is she interested past curiosity? Is there attraction more than simple interest?

  The power in her veins calls to my own, whatever claws that curl inside her nearly as thick as my own, and I want her. Wonder, I want her unlike anything I’ve ever wanted before. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that, since I’ve been free from the enchantment. But it isn’t just because it has been so long that I want her. I want Tiger Lily because of who she is. I hardly know her, but I feel like I’ve known her for so long.

  Tendrils of power wrapping around my wrists. Blood dripping down the trees. The beady eyes of a tiny bird—

  “March, leave the poor woman alone,” Cheshire growls, and the Skinwalker glances at the beast, the corner of her lips kicking up. For a moment, I’m jealous. She hasn’t smiled at me yet.

  “I don’t mind,” she tells him, and it’s the answer I need to hear.

  She may have said she’d eat me, and I’d gladly let her, but I had a feeling it was an empty threat. The Skinwalker likes me.

  I lean forward, closer, too close to be proper, but she doesn’t pull away, even if her brow raises in challenge. I tilt my head, and feel my form flicker again, but when she reaches out a hand and touches my ear, I let her.

  “Do you like tea, Pretty Lily?” I ask, and grin at the woman stroking my ear. “And feel free to stroke me any time.”

  The soft laugh that slips from her throat is as good as the best aphrodisiac. The smile feeds my soul.

  I want her to do it again.

  Chapter Ten

  I sit quietly as we hold the first meeting that isn’t in the little clearing we normally hold them. With so many of us and the threat of the Croc, we form a sort of misshapen circle of stumps for everyone to sit on. Even though we’re in the Coven, it’s easier to pretend we’re in the clearing, sitting on the wooden stump. Wendy and Hook sit to one side of me, their stumps pressed closer, Wendy listening to White speaking intently.

  “So, you’ve said the heart of Neverland is being drained. From what I understand of what you’re saying, Neverland is fueled by this heart. Do you not have some deity here?”

  “There are no gods or goddesses in Neverland. There are only Daughters and Leaders,” Tink answered. “And you’re looking at almost everyone with power on our side here.”

  “Almost?” Jupiter asks, her red hair falling around her shoulders as she tilts her head. The woman holds so much cleverness in her eyes, I’m ashamed I’d discounted her in the beginning as being useful past her powers. I should have known not to discount humans after Wendy. Besides, Jupiter has her own sort of magic I don’t understand.

  “We’re missing Peter,” I murmur, and they all look towards me. March is sitting next to me, his eyes on me far too often for comfort, but I find I don’t mind so much. It’s strange to be comfortable with his attention.

  Atlas sits beside his sister, Cal, his posture completely at ease. He’s closer to our age—at least, to our appearances—and even though he looks youthful, there’s a great power to him, too. Someone mentioned he’s also a Son of Wonderland, newly chosen, and that intrigues me just as much as the way his sister holds herself does.

  “Peter Pan?” Atlas asks, raising his brow. “Is he a kid like in the stories?”

  “He used to be.” Wendy frowns. “We all used to be kids.”

  “That’s how we first realized something was wrong,” Tink speaks. She isn’t paying attention to those around the circle. Instead, she’s leaning back and looking up at the stars, her arms braced behind her on the large stump. Every so often, she traces her eyes around our newcomers, and I’m not sure which one she’s studying. Perhaps, all of them.

  Jupiter shakes her head. “You know, when you first told me you were taking me to Wonderland, that was the most adventure I ever thought I’d have,” she tells White, a grin on her face.

  The Rabbit just winks at her, perfectly content with her obvious excitement. They make a cute couple; a dangerous couple, but cute.

  “Have you tried feeding Neverland with blood?” Cheshire leans forward as he asks the question, his ears twisting to listen. Every so often, I catch sight of his tail curling around behind him, and sometimes, when they think no one’s looking, I catch Cal stroking his tail like she would a cat’s. I don’t point it out. I have a feeling the big, bad kitty cat won’t like that so much.

  Cal scoffs at his question, but it’s Wendy who scowls. “There used to be sacrifices made on Skull Rock, but they didn’t actually help. Neverland is fueled by the children brought by Pan, the ones who don’t become Lost, but Peter stopped bringing children because hundreds were becoming Lost.”

  “What do you mean?” Jupiter bites her bottom lip in thought. “You keep saying Lost. We had a brother and sister in Wonderland who called themselves Lost.”

  “What were their names?” Tink asks, her eyes still on the stars.

  “The Tweedles.” White tilts his head. “Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

  Finally, Tink lowers her eyes and raises her brows, and I find myself doing the same. “The Tweedles are from Neverland. I don’t know how they got to your world, but they disappeared from ours long ago.”

  Wendy frowns, and I know what she’s thinking. The Tweedles had been gone before she’d ever arrived in Neverland. We’d assumed someone killed them, thought maybe Peter had,
but apparently, the siblings had somehow escaped from beneath our noses. The Tweedles used to rule the Lost, until they didn’t. We had no explanation and didn’t much care when it worked in our benefit.

  “Are they alive?” I ask because if they are, they need to be disposed of. The Tweedles were dangerous when they’d been here, their powers unlike most of the other Lost. There’d been talk they had ties to the land the same as we did, but when they disappeared, we assumed they would no longer be our problem.

  “No.” Atlas shook his head. “During our war with the Red Queen, I beheaded them.”

  “Good.”

  White leans forward, sighing and shaking his head. “I have to admit, this isn’t a problem we know how to deal with, but perhaps, we can offer insight you might not have had before.” White glances towards Hook where he lazily sprawls on his stump. The Captain keeps his air of smugness about him as they meet eyes, easily making White bristle.

  “Keep looking at me like you wanna stab me, rabbit, and I’ll turn you into a keychain,” Hook warns as he twists his metal appendage in threat.

  “You haven’t changed in the slightest, I see,” White growls. “I’d like nothing more than to skewer you. Fucking pirate.”

  Hook grins and I shake my head. Testosterone. Such a bothersome trait.

  “So, what do we know?” Cheshire grumbles. “It doesn’t seem like anyone knows much besides the world is being drained.”

  “The magic is being stolen by the Crocodile and his army of Lost have been giving us trouble.” Wendy pauses, biting her lip. “But we do know he thinks I’m a key.”

  White perks up. “A key to what?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighs. “But I think it has to do with my tears.”

  Both Tink and I whip our heads towards Wendy. Hook does the same, as if none of us have ever heard this piece of information. It’s clear right away we haven’t and I clench my jaw.