I need to relax.
Need to breathe.
Yes, I’m guilty, but if I act like it, it’ll only confirm what suspicions she may have.
With a subtle, deep breath, I grab a juicy red apple from the fruit basket and tuck it into my bag, whirl around on the tips of my toes, and pop another kiss on her cheek. “I’ll have some later, okay? I’m running late.”
She doesn’t comment until I’m at the front door, lacing up my knee-high leather boots.
“Running late? It’s quite early still, Tinksley. What exactly are you late for?”
“Oh, um…I-I told Persia I’d pass by the sanctuary today to discuss sitting arrangements for N’Isabelle during her voyage.” It’s a flat-out lie—well, kind of—because I’m not meeting with Persia until next week, but I don’t exactly care to hear another lecture about how I shouldn’t be spending time with Peter.
I get enough of those when I actually do tell her the truth.
“A voyage, huh? And where is she off to?”
The sounds of her chopping grow louder against the block with every slice through the melon. Each cleave briskly warps my anxiety into frustration.
“To Lapiz. Evidently, there’s a coven over there who need help from the Sacred Six.”
“Help with what?” she presses.
“I don’t know, mama!” I snap, throwing my arms out. “It’s not my business. All I know is that they need her help and she needs someone to stay with N’Isabelle during that time.”
“There’s other witches in her circle. Why not ask one of them to keep watch of—”
“Did you not hear me?” My voice reaches the octave of all octaves as I bore into her. “It’s not my business—she asked and I agreed! That’s all I know!”
Those aquamarine eyes of hers, ones identical to my own, regard me sternly from her place behind the wooden counter. It’s clear she doesn’t care for my tone, but what does she expect when she’s asking a million and one questions after telling her I’m late?
Sighing, she shakes her head and sets down the blade. Her stare remains steady as she goes about wiping her hands clean. “Very well then. Go, meet with Persia, but please don’t be home too late. We’re having dinner with your—”
Slam!
I’m out the door, skipping down the aged-oak steps before she can finish. I don’t need to hear what remains of her request to know what she was going to say.
Dinner with my father.
Not happening. I have zero desire to venture into Onyx Hollow, let alone dine with the monster whose seed created me. It’s bad enough I bear his markings whenever my wings are concealed. He may have sacrificed a great deal, let my mother and I go to ensure we wouldn’t have to live in and be subjected such dreadful conditions, but that changes nothing for me.
I still detest him and I always will.
The forest is quiet today.
I can hear every one of my footsteps as I pad through its sparkling range. Broad rays of sunlight stream through the tops of the trees, birds chirping calls and songs of all kinds. Thoughts of my inquisitive mother melt away as I twirl and spin my way to Lost Lake, a breezy smile flitting across my face.
It spreads wider still in anticipation of seeing Peter again. In anticipation of his touch, his kisses, even his laugh.
God, I love him. Always have, really. Since I first met him, I think. I may have only been a child then but—
“Off to see, Pan?” a husky voice I know all too well asks, jerking me to a dead-stop with an audible gasp.
Hook.
I spin toward the source and find him a ways behind me, leaned up casually against a thick trunk. That signature cock-sure smirk of his hikes up one corner of his mouth.
My insides flip at the sight of it. “What are you doing here?”
Callan regards me like I’ve lost my mind, chuckling softly. “What do you mean what am I doing here? It’s my forest—I roam wherever I please.”
“This isn’t your forest.” I lift my chin brazenly, surprising us both in the process. “Your territory is on the other side of the island.”
There’s a hitch in time following my words, one that’s silent—save for my wild heartbeat and a low, suppressed growl that resounds from his chest. I don’t manage even a full blink and he’s suddenly in my breathing space, towering high above me. I have to crane my head back to get another look at his handsome face. Ice blue eyes framed by thick, ebony brows sear me down to the darkest depths of my soul, shooting my erratic heart up to my throat.
I’m choking on his very presence, and he seems to like it, grinning ever so devilishly. Very slowly he tilts his head aside and reaches out, fingering a pale tendril of my hair. “You know that’s not true, love. The entire island is my territory.”
Every hair on my body stands at attention at the velvety smoothness of his croon. Goosepimples dot my flesh, my stomach whirls again. I should be afraid of him, deathly so considering his proximity and what he is, but I’m not.
I never am, never have been.
Despite how he gets on—or rather, doesn’t get on—with others, especially Peter, Callan has always been cordial and amiable with me. He’s never given me a personal reason to feel fear.
Why that is, I haven’t a clue.
In fact, it’s a question I’ve been asking myself ever since I can remember.
♫ Ride - Twenty One Pilots ♫
She’s so damned close, I can smell her; sweet jasmine and ripe honeysuckle.
I can feel her body warmth.
Hear her heart gallop.
See the way her pulse flutters wildly.
There’s a flush in her cheeks, a hitch in her breath as I step all the more closer, invading all essence of her personal space. She’s puzzled, a bundle of nerves, and yet, she doesn’t recoil.
Now that I think about it, I can’t recall a time she ever has. Then again, these lone moments between us are a rare occurrence. A very rare occurrence.
And this one right here—it’s different from the rest.
It’s the absolute closest I’ve ever been to her.
I usually have more self-control, but the way she looks today…I can’t. I have to be near her, even if but for a second.
Perfectly still the little pixie stands before me, aquamarine pools locked firmly on my blues. She doesn’t so much as breathe, not even when I duck my head to her level.
“Breathe, Tinksley,” I whisper, gently brushing back her mane. My lips ghost along her cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I-I know,” she stammers, completely disarming me.
An appeased grin touches my lips. “Do you now? So sure of yourself, of me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you trust me.”
Tinksley shudders slightly, just enough for me to catch it, and while I can’t see her expression, I know those big, innocent eyes of hers are clamped tightly. “I do.”
I shake my head, nearly chuckling as those two little words echo through me, rippling from my head down to my toes.
If she only knew what they do to me.
Arousal. Elation. Confusion.
Of all people, she trusts me?
“Why?” I have to know. “No one else does. I’m what nightmares are made of, remember?”