The Fae Princes (Vicious Lost Boys Book 4)

We’re losing now.

And Tinker Bell is full of glee.

There’s a sharp cut on my torso, blood soaking through my clothing. Vane is on the edge of carting me off, I can feel it. But we’re not done. We cannot be done.

A fae swings with a wooden staff. I duck just in time to miss it, but she catches me on the backward swing and a sharp vibration of pain sings down my bones, down my ribs and into my legs.

Tears prick in my eyes.

The shadow swells around me, the air undulating like ocean waves. The fae stops, sucking in air like she’s choking. I stab. Cut. Slash. Her blood leaves a coppery tang on the back of my tongue.

How much longer can we do this?

How are we to defeat Tinker Bell when not even a fabled island blade can kill her?

Kas takes out a fae, then he and Bash go back-to-back, swinging, but the fae and the Lost Boys lose their frenzy and a hush travels through the crowd.

Their eyes turn toward the sky.

I follow in their direction and see an orb of light in the dark night sky and I swear I hear a voice say… I’m coming.

“What is that?” Bash asks, breathing heavily.

The light is traveling so fast, the sound of it cuts through the night like a jet engine.

It gets closer. And closer.

Fae voices rise in alarm.

I find Tinker Bell in the crowd, her mouth open, eyes wide.

This isn’t her doing.

This is something else.

The plume of light shoots across the meadow and crashes into Tink. Both fly back, hitting the ground with a thundering roar, tearing up the earth like a giant scrape of skin.

“Holy shit,” Kas says.

“What the fuck is happening?” Bash asks.

The light stands up and looks over at us.

“Pan,” I breathe out.

Fucking Peter Pan, glowing like a star.

Vane and I meet each other’s eyes. We look across the clearing at the twins.

I can feel Pan like a break of sunlight on my skin, even though it’s dark and the air cold.

He’s changed. Something about him has changed.

But there’s no time to unravel the secrets.

We have to move. Now.

Tink gets up, one of her wings hanging crooked from her back. The other is missing completely.

“What have you done, Peter Pan?” she asks.

“Found my own light, Tink,” he tells her.

She swings. He darts to the side. She swings again, knife in hand. Pan catches her arm and wrenches the blade from her hand. When the black stone is firmly in his grip, he tightens his fist and the stone melts like ink.

“Hold her,” Pan says, and we all race across the clearing to him. Bash grabs her arm, Kas another. Vane and I circle, our shadow pushing back on Tink, squeezing the air from her lungs.

“No!” she screams, fights against the twins.

Pan takes her face in his glowing hands. Blinding light fills the meadow. Light so bright, it makes my eyes sting.

“No!” Tink screams again.

The light and the heat pulses out like an inferno. Darkness mists out from Tink, swirling in the light. Dark tendrils of whatever dark magic resurrected her, trying one last time to keep its foothold on this world.

“Goodbye, Tink,” Pan says.

She hangs her head back, face pointed toward the stars, and screams.