The Never King (Vicious Lost Boys, #1)

by Nikki St. Crowe

“Oh, Winnie.” Her voice catches. “He can get in anywhere.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Darling. Which will it be?”

I lurch upright only to find I’m chained to a wall. That’s kinky.

They look like trouble. They feel like the wrong kind of temptation. Like a pretty tree frog that can kill you with a touch.

They’re dead now. Mortals decay. Lost Boys never die.

“Because I will chase you,” he says, with a sinister bend to his voice. “And you don’t want to know what happens when I catch you.”

Pancakes aren’t supposed to be fucking sexy. It’s not like I gave her a bowl of strawberries to wrap her pretty little lips around.

She’s got the biggest crush on him, though only the gods know why. He’s a fucking surly asshole on his best days. Downright scary on his worst.

What did Merry do to her? The rage comes back, but this time it’s kindled by something else.

I grab Vane by the shoulders and give him a shake. Both his eyes are black and the blackness of the shadow is filling his veins, surging around his eyes like a writhing mask.

“I want to go home.” “Why?” “Because…because you all are assholes.” “And?” “And…and I don’t want to be broken.”

Some of the house is crumbling with age, but there’s beauty in it, like a cracked marble statue of some ancient Greek goddess.

There is something about him that is disarming. Unnatural. Haunting. Like a barren tree growing in the middle of a dark lake. Something that very rarely should be and yet is. Just the sight of it tells you a story—I am indestructible. Unyielding.

“Most men don’t realize this,” she said once, “but us girls, we have toolboxes too. Ours aren’t stuffed with hammers and wrenches and screwdrivers. We have these.” She gave her boobs a squeeze. “And this.” Then tapped at her temple. “And there’s no greater power than tits and brains, baby girl.”

A king cannot become something else. He will always be a king. Without the throne, he is nothing.

“Why not?” she asks. “You can’t say you don’t believe in—” “Darling.” Her name is a growl and my heart is racing in my ears. “If you say it, I’m dead.” “What?” The question is another trill of laughter. “That can’t be true.” “Well, it is.” I am reminded of my mother suddenly. The cut of her wings, the glow of her skin. “If you say those words, a fairy dies. It’s as simple as that. So promise me you won’t say it.”

“Fae is a better word.” We are not all creatures of stardust and light, not like my mother. The fae here are bathed in blood. But the fae have one rule: do not kill each other. Bash and I broke that.

“Killing another fae is grounds for banishment and losing their wings. That’s why they’re here with Pan and the Lost Boys. They were banished from the fae court.”

Something is troubling him. I can feel it. I’m familiar with anxiety. That building feeling that your insides want to crawl to the outside and burst into flames.

“If you are not the most interesting person you know, then you’re doing it wrong.” I arch a brow. “Some would call that narcissism.” “If you don’t hold yourself on a pedestal, then who will?”