Devour the Dark (Devourer, #2)

by Nikki St. Crowe

“Yes? You didn’t know?” “I think I thought it was Vane and Pan, mostly. The twins...

“The twins aren’t as obvious about it as Vane and Pan. Kas and Bash aren’t as possessive or territorial. But yes, I’m with all four of them. We’ve negotiated all of the pitfalls of a five-person relationship. And trust me, there are a lot. But what I was saying is, while I might have come to them very late in their relationships, and I could have easily felt like a fifth wheel, I quickly learned they needed me just as much as I needed them. Hook and Roc might have established something before finding you—which honestly, the fact I’m even saying that is wild, trust me, they were trying to kill each other not that long ago. But anyway, what I ...

“You are my great-great-great something granddaughter, and somehow, I feel like you are far wiser than I ever was.” She chuckles and takes my hand affectionately. “There’s this saying in my world—our world—fake it till you make it. I’m mostly just faking it.”

“What is our world like now? What is something you think might surprise me?” “Hmmm, oh god. Let me think. There’s so much.” We keep walking the perimeter of the store. “Oh here’s a good one. Women can finally own property.” I pull away. “Truly?” She nods. “And bank accounts.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say to Roc. “I have no occasion to wear it. It’s a waste of your money.” “Oh I didn’t buy it for you,” he answers. “I’m confused.” “It was mostly self-serving. I wanted the opportunity to rip it from your body sometime in the near future.” He winks at me.

“And that, Your Majesty, is exactly why I bought that dress. Impropriety makes you flush and I find it fucking hot. I will have you begging for depravity before long.” Antony calls him away, leaving me blinking at the now naked mannequin, face burning, liquid heat pooling between my legs.

Wendy and I may share the witch’s original power, but we are not as powerful as the Crocodile. More beast than man. More myth than mortal flesh.

“Captain,” he says now, his voice husky. “Yes. I’m here.” I come around him. His eyes are squeezed shut. “I’m having trouble fighting her,” he admits. The witch. “She has me chasing ghosts.”

“I can hear my father’s voice in this room. Do you know his favorite saying?” We don’t, so we say nothing. “’You are the bane of my existence.” He bows his head again. “From the moment I was born, he twisted my name into an insult.”

His eyes pop open and it takes him a beat to focus on me. “Bane,” he answers. “Our mother fancied herself a poet. She loved Edgar Allan Poe. Bane. Vane. And Lane. The rhyming three.” He laughs, but it’s thick with emotion.

“I’m glad we’re here,” she tells him. “Because all three of us…we are all stained by trauma and regrets. We understand one another in a way no one else can.” Roc huffs out a laugh. “You tell a beast that you understand it?” “Even a monster has a heart.”

“You can take him,” Roc says, his other hand coming to her jaw, fingers pressed into her, commanding every one of her movements. “When he comes, don’t swallow it. Share it with me.” “Bloody hell,” I huff out, careening closer and closer to the wave crest.

It may be Wendy pleasing me, but it is undeniably both of them, and there’s something dirty and illicit and so fucking right about it.

Finally, he lets her up and she straightens, cum glistening on her lips. Hair tangled around his hand, he yanks her mouth to him, his tongue darting into her. I stagger back. They are lost in the kiss, the deepness of it, the glide of their tongues against one another, my cum glistening between them.

Roc groans into her and she mewls, her hips grinding against him. Fuck. Fucking bloody fucking hell. Poor form. Good form? I don’t fucking know. It’s the most illicit thing I’ve ever witnessed.

“Okay, but—wait, what is your type?” Despite my objections, I am watching Malachi closely. But Winnie asked me a question, and when data is requested, I sometimes have difficulty denying it. “The twins have the kind of body I like. Solid and stocky.” Winnie smiles wide. “So solid. So stocky.” “I tend to like my men a little more detached, though. I don’t do emotion well.”

“So a Bash body, an emotional state like Pan. How do you like to be loved?” “I would tell you if I knew.” She watches me quietly for several seconds. “I understand,” she says. “More than you know.”

“I know he makes it difficult to love him,” I say. James’s shoulders shake with a half-hearted laugh. He pulls back and glances over at me. “I suppose if he were easy to love, it wouldn’t be as much fun. Everyone would do it.”

James props his hook on his thigh. “I don’t know what he has to be afraid of. He’s a mythological monster that eats people. It’s you and I who should be afraid.” I thread my fingers with his. “It’s not the violence he’s afraid of.”

It’s mercury currently humming through my veins. An amateur mistake, taking a drink from someone without second guessing its provenance. Malachi, that fucker. Dead by sunrise. A promise.

There’s the Myth Maker standing in front of me surrounded by more of her lackeys. There’s Roc across the room, a mirror image of me: he’s on his knees, swaying. They used the mercury on me, the blade on him. He broke the promise, as I suspected he would. You’re not supposed to be here, I think, narrowing my eyes at him. But he’s too far gone to the pain to read me.

“You Maddred brothers, so predictable,” the Myth says, circling behind me. “Your egos, the size of the moon.” She clucks her tongue. I snort. “And Myths are any better? I’m not the one trying to overthrow the Seven Isles. Trying to steal what is not mine.”

“Oh?” She raises a brow. “Was it not the Maddred family who tore through Wonderland? Destroyed the Heart Court?” She ducks down in front of me. “Yes, I know what you are. Jabberwocky.”

I haven’t heard that word in eons. The longer I was on this side of the glass, the more I believed I was born to the Seven Isles. But I wasn’t. Roc and I were born in Wonderland, ou...

I barely think about it now. Jabberwocky. We are mentioned in some of the stories, some of Wonderland’s world leaking over into the Seven Isles. But no one this side of the glass would know how to identify one. So we’ve stayed hidden in plain sight. Hidden behind titles, wealth, and secret societies.

“Let’s see,” the Myth goes on. “Ruined Wonderland. Then settled in Darkland. Was it also not you who stole the Darkland Shadow and then destroyed the Darkland court?”

“It’s not that complicated. Roc gives in to my sister. Then he—they—claim the shadow and their rightful place on the Darkland throne.”

The truth doesn’t matter, he realizes. They’re better off without him. He’s a monster, after all, and monsters don’t get happy endings.

“There is nothing you can say to change his mind,” the witch says through Roc’s mouth. I grit my teeth, hold my breath. “You’re wrong,” James argues. “Do you remember, Crocodile? ‘Just six words.’” Roc inhales. “But I don’t need six. I just need three.”

I know this is something I wasn’t a part of. I know it came before me. But I don’t care. I will no longer hide, I will no longer shrink away from the discomfort of loving someone. And I sure as hell won’t give in to jealousy.

James takes a breath. “We,” he says. “Love. You.” Roc blinks and a single tear escapes the corner of his eye. “I love you too,” he says, and then, “Run.”

Vane undoes the gag. “Tell me you have the hat.” “Thanks. Nice to see you, too. I’ve only been stuck down here in the dark for many fucking hours,” Malachi says. Vane crouches beside him. “Tell me you have the hat, or I’m feeding you directly to my brother. Bones and all.”

“It’s really a hat?” Winnie says. “I said it was a hat,” Vane answers. “Yeah, but I was sorta expecting that to be some kind of metaphor.” “It’s a hat,” he says and makes his way back upstairs. “But like…a magical hat?” Winnie asks. “Something like that.”

“You dumb shit,” Vane says. Roc gets up on his feet. He stares down at Vane. “I love you too,” he says and then wraps Vane in a hug. Vane is stiff for all of two seconds, and then he hugs his brother back. “Thank you,” Roc says. “Stop devouring every random inconvenience. We only have one hat. If something happens to that one, I’m not going through the glass for another.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” Then Roc plants a kiss on Vane’s forehead. Vane curses beneath his breath.

“For most of my life,” I say, “I’ve been running from who I am. Maybe it’s time I stop.” Wendy takes her drink and tips it back, wincing at the burn. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.” I turn to the Captain. “And you?” His nostrils flare. “Where you go, I follow.”

“Just three words?” I repeat. He runs his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. He’s doing that on purpose, dragging my gaze to his fucking mouth. “I’ll use six if you’re giving them,” he says. I wink at him. “Six will do.”

It’s startling how everything can change, and yet the imprint of the old remains.

Win saw the croissants and practically melted into the floor. That girl has a weakness for baked goods. Bash has corrupted her.

Roc leans back in his chair and props his boots on the edge of the desk. He’s different this morning. And not just because he’s well-rested and no longer burdened by the witch. He finally claimed the Darkland Dark Shadow.

“How does it feel?” I asked him. He had leaned back in the nearest chair and stared off into space for several long seconds. “I feel…calm, for once.”

“The Madd Brothers reunited,” he says. “Go on. Your Darling calls.” I nod and follow the pull of my own shadow, the pull of my Darling.

Winnie and Wendy lock arms, giggle to one another, and disappear between two stacks of crates. “Win,” Vane says with a grumble. “Oh don’t mind me.” Her voice filters up, swirling around the high warehouse ceiling. “Just having a look.” “Do not, under any circumstances, touch a hat,” Vane says, chasing after her.

“You are merciless.” “And soon I will be insufferable.” I swat his ass. He huffs out with indignation. “As soon as the paperwork is filed and my title reclaimed, the throne mine, I will be your king. Imagine all of the vile things I will demand of you.”

“Demand what you want. I bow to no man.” “I am no man, Captain.” “Nor monsters.” I laugh. “We’ll see about that.” “Christ,” I hear Vane say from deep within the stacks.

“Who was she?” Wendy asks me, echoing Winnie. Darling women never relent. “A ghost from our past,” Vane says. “Who?” Wendy persists. “Al,” I say because that’s what we called her.

“Alice,” Vane corrects. “Her name was Alice.” Seeing her face again puts flame to the rage. I buried thoughts of her a long time ago, along with all of the artifacts in this warehouse.

Alice slipped through the glass a long time ago. And hopefully she stays there, with our mad uncle. Because if she ever shows her face here again, I’ll kill her myself.