Never

Chapter Eleven

When Lily woke up the next day, mind reeling with the memory of the night before, she half-convinced herself it had been a dream. But when she found the bruises his fingertips had left on her hips, Lily was forced to admit that she had kissed Peter Pan. Against a tree. And she'd liked it. And she wanted to do it again.

Lily's head pounded, eyes flitting shut again. What was going on with her? She'd kissed Pan, her worst enemy, her captor, the evil ruler of this evil island. Sure, she'd liked it, liked his hands tracing her skin, her scars, her shoulder blades, liked his lips, hot, forceful, angry, on her own, but did she like him? She couldn't. He'd tortured her, been endlessly cruel to her, laughed at her pain, and yet, once she'd kissed him, she could no longer deny that he had always given her unnatural chills. Lily had believed it was simply a matter of fear, and loathing, but now she was forced to admit that there was something else there as well.

Lily tried to put it off to mere physical attraction. After all, Peter was beautiful, his eyes striking and emerald, skin silver and smooth. His mischievous smile glittered, lighting up even the darkest sections of the forest, equal parts devious and intelligent. He was tall, muscular, and the way his lean arms had felt wrapped around her... He was godlike, there was no denying.

But it was more than just his looks that intrigued Lily, there was something about being around him that made her feel more real, more alive. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as if she were being set on fire, glowing, changing shape as Peter sewed her broken pieces back together, fingertips glowing white with flame. Living with him, she was constantly on edge, never sure when to be afraid, when to be angry, and when to feel that other emotion, the one she had no name for, the one that had burned in her the night before as Peter's body had pressed viciously against her own.

When Lily was finally ready to wake up and face the Lost Boys, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. But when she came to her senses, she realized that the sun was far too high in the sky and the boys--where were the boys? She sniffed with annoyance as she realized they'd gone on their daily adventure without her. Leaning against a nearby sycamore, Lily groaned, rubbing her temples. She was bruised and bloody, hands covered with dried blood and dirt. She was still wrapped in her white nightgown, the ruffles shredded, thin fabric torn and stained. Lily stretched, looking around.

And then she saw it, the shadow crossing the light, the branches on a nearby tree rustling as someone made their way out of the forest, headed towards the camp. Lily slid behind her tree, carefully peering around as he stepped into the camp.

It was Pan.

He looked terrible, eyes sunken and sad, as if something had broken in him. His hair was ruffled, full of twigs and leaves, as if he'd spent all night running through the forest. His skin was paler than usual, ashen and grey. Lily stepped out from her hiding place, slipping into view, the sun through the trees on her skin.

Pan looked at her, letting out a deep sigh.

"Oh," he said quietly. "I assumed you'd be off with the boys."

"I'm not."

"I can see that," he said, a little smirk making its way through his gloom.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, Pan looking at anywhere but Lily, Lily staring at him, her eyes raking him up in down. God, he was gorgeous.

"Lily," he finally broke the silence. "Lily. I... I'm sorry... I shouldn't have-"

"Yes, you should have."