The Dark One (Vicious Lost Boys Book 2)

When we reach the house, Pan is in the foyer. “There you are. Where the fuck have you two been?”

“Fucking,” I say proudly.

Vane groans.

Pan’s gaze darts between us and I notice he gets caught on the fresh bruises around my throat. “Are you all right?” he asks.

“I am magnificent.”

“Quit bragging,” Vane says. “It does not become you.”

“On the contrary. It becomes me very well.”

“Bash,” Pan yells through the house.

“Yeah?” Bash answers from the loft.

“Get the salve.” Pan points a finger at me. “You’ll use it this time. End of discussion.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s only so much I can get away with, with these powerful men. “Fine.”

We go up the winding staircase and Bash meets us with the salve in hand. He narrows his eyes at Vane. “You didn’t break our little Darling, did you, Dark One?”

“No,” I answer.

“Debatable,” Vane says.

Pan grabs the salve and comes over to me, but Vane snatches it from his grip and then hooks me around the waist and steers me toward his room.

“Vane!” Pan yells.

But Vane keeps pushing me and says, “She’s mine tonight.”

“I didn’t know we could call dibs on the Darling,” Bash says, his voice fading away as Vane guides me into his room and shuts the door behind us.

This is the first time I’m in his room and coherent enough to take it in. He goes around and lights several lanterns and the golden light spills across the room.

The space is half what I expected, half not.

The bed is large, the four posts thick with delicate carvings on the headboard and the footboard. The bed is made with a soft linen duvet and several thick pillows.

Across from the bed is a fireplace, the stone hearth cold in the middle of Neverland’s warm season. On the mantle is a stack of books, a tiny model ship, and several other trinkets.

And hanging above the fireplace is a giant oil painting of a meadow with a girl standing in the center, her white dress caught in the wind.

She’s facing away from the viewer, so it’s impossible to know what she looks like or what she’s thinking, but the looseness in her body leads me to believe she’s happy.

“Sit,” Vane orders, so I go to the bed and sit on the edge. He uncorks the salve and nudges my chin up with the hard ridge of his knuckle and then dips his fingers into the green goo. His touch is gentle as he rubs it into my skin and when the warmth sinks in, my eyes slip closed and I exhale.

“Better?” he asks.

My eyes pop open and it takes me a second to refocus on him. He’s rimmed in the light, a dark vision, spun in gold. He’s still shirtless, all hard lines and solid muscle. His size is overwhelming and also somehow comforting. As if I will always be protected as long as he’s near.

The realization of that, of how he makes me feel, catches in my throat and comes out sounding like a gasp.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing, it’s just…”

He patiently waits for me to answer.

“I’m worried that this is some kind of illusion, like maybe the twins are tricking me into thinking you’re here. And I’m terrified that it will end.”

I know how I must sound. Like a pathetic, needy girl desperate for the Dark One’s attention and his cock. He fucks me once and I can’t get enough of him.

But it’s all true.

More than Pan, more than Bash and Kas, I wanted Vane because I recognize something in him that feels familiar.

We are both broken and so fucking afraid that someone will notice.

“Up,” he orders and I lurch to my feet. He sets the salve aside and yanks back the duvet. “Get in.”

I hurry into his bed, my heart picking up speed in my chest, butterflies hammering at my navel. He slides in next to me and pulls me into him, then tucks the blanket around us.

I am so happy it hurts. Surrounded by his scent, nestled in his arms.

I don’t want the bubble to burst.

I don’t want to cry like an idiot.

“I am here,” he says, his voice raspy at my ear as he holds me at his side, his fingers trailing up my arm. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes.” I shiver beneath him.

“I am here and I am real and I’m not going anywhere.”

I recall Pan telling me Vane was considering returning to his island. I’m not sure if Vane knows I know, but I decide to use it to my advantage.

Vane strikes me as the type of person who does not give promises easily because he always stands by his word.

“Promise me you aren’t going anywhere.”

He grumbles.

“You forced me to promise to stab you in the face. Now give me this. Please.”

“Fine. I promise, Darling.”

“Promise what?”

“That I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words echo in my head as the fairy salve soaks into my bloodstream and eases all of the tension and ache from my body.

I hold on to those words with everything I have. And hold on to him with just a little more.