Lost In Neverland

Chapter 21: A Game of Shadows

Gwen

The door creaked open, and I froze, my heart pounding as I instinctively looked toward it. Hook’s tall frame filled the doorway, his presence commanding as always. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the tension in the room felt like a physical weight pressing down on me.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice smooth and even, but I caught the faintest edge of something underneath. Concern? Annoyance? I couldn’t tell.

“I’m still locked in your room,” I snapped, sitting up straighter on the bed. “Where else would I be?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “Good,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “I’d hate to think you’d tried anything foolish while I was away.”

I glared at him, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “What do you want, Hook? Why won’t you just let me go?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved to the desk where a bottle of rum sat alongside a map he’d left earlier. He poured himself a glass, his movements slow and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world. I hated how calm he always seemed like he was untouchable.

“I want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he said finally, his voice infuriatingly casual. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“Because no one came when I yelled,” I said, crossing my arms. “And there’s only so much pacing I can do in one room before I lose my mind.”

He turned to me, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “So, you’ve grown bored of my quarters already?”

“They’re not as charming as you think they are.”

His smirk deepened, and he leaned back against the desk, taking a slow sip of his drink. “You wound me, love. I thought the old-world charm might suit you.”

“It would suit me better if the door wasn’t locked.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and I hated how it made my stomach flip. “You’re safer here.”

“Safe?” I stood, anger surging through me. “You think locking me up like some damsel in distress is keeping me safe?”

“It’s keeping you alive,” he said, his tone hardening. “Do you have any idea what’s out there? What you’ve walked into?”

“I’m not afraid of this island,” I shot back. “I’ve faced worse.”

“Have you?” He tilted his head, studying me with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Because I’m not sure you’ve truly seen what this island can do.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat. Because he was right—I hadn’t seen everything. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to let him win this argument.

“I can handle myself,” I said finally, my voice quieter but no less firm.

Hook sighed, setting his glass down on the desk before crossing the room in a few long strides. Before I could react, he was standing directly in front of me, his height and presence overwhelming in the close space.

“You’re brave,” he said softly, his voice like a caress. “I’ll give you that. But bravery doesn’t mean invincibility.”

His words hung between us, heavy with meaning. I refused to look away, meeting his gaze head-on even as my heart hammered in my chest.

“Let me go, Hook,” I said, my voice steady despite the knot of fear and frustration twisting inside me. “I need to find Peter.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes, and his jaw tightened. “Always Peter,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “What is it about him that has you so devoted?”

I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. “It’s not devotion,” I said carefully. “He’s my friend. He’s out there somewhere, and I need to make sure he’s okay.”

He tilted his head, his gaze steady as he studied me. “I’m curious,” he said. “You’re so loyal to Peter, calling him your friend. But tell me, love, do friends kiss each other?”

His words stopped me cold. My pulse quickened, and I stared at him, trying to read his expression. “How do you know about that?”

Hook chuckled, the sound low and almost mocking. “I asked him. It was written all over his face—the blush, the stammering. Your dear friend couldn’t hide the truth if he tried.”

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The kiss with Peter had been intense and unexpected, and yet… it had felt right. It wasn’t something I regretted.

Hook stepped closer, his voice soft but laced with something dangerous. “Is that what friends do, Gwen? Kiss each other?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, his hand cupped my cheek, and he leaned down, pressing his lips gently against mine.

The kiss wasn’t forceful or demanding; it was slow and exploratory as if he were testing the waters. His lips were soft, warm, and surprisingly tender. I won’t pretend that my heart didn’t race the way it had with Peter because it was just as amazing. I pulled back, my breath unsteady as I dazedly looked up at him.

“Peter kisses better,” I said, unable to stop myself, though I was lying. Both men are very talented kissers.

His dark eyes flared with surprise before narrowing, his smirk returning with a sharp edge. “Does he now?” he drawled. “Well, love, I can do far more to your body than Pan could ever imagine.”

His words sent a jolt through me, part intrigue, part indignation. “I’m not interested in finding out,” I said firmly, though my voice wavered slightly.

Hook’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might argue. But then he stepped back, his expression hardening. “Of course, you’re not,” he said, his tone cold. “You want to run back to your precious Peter. Do you even know what he did to me?”

I froze, the shift in his demeanor catching me off guard. “What are you talking about?”

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his dark hair. “You don’t know, do you? He didn’t tell you how I lost my hand. How I became the man I am.”

“He told me it was an accident,” I said cautiously. “You were exploring a dangerous part of the island. There was a fight with the crocodile, and you lost your hand trying to save him.”

Hook’s jaw tightened, his eyes blazing. “And did he tell you what happened after? Did he tell you how he left me to suffer while the island’s magic twisted the wound? How he couldn’t save me in time, and yet he dragged me into that place to begin with?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” I argued, stepping toward him. “He didn’t mean for any of it to happen. He was just a boy trying to survive, just like you.”

“Don’t you dare defend him,” Hook snapped, his voice rising. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way he abandoned me, the way he moved on while I—” He stopped, his breath ragged as he turned away.

I took a shaky step closer, my voice softening. “He didn’t abandon you, James. He blames himself for what happened. He’s carried that guilt ever since.”

Hook whirled around, his face contorted with anger and pain. “He doesn’t get to feel guilty,” he spat. “He gets to live with both hands while I’m stuck with this.” He held up his hook, the metal gleaming in the dim light.

“James…” I began, but he shook his head sharply, cutting me off.

“Save your sympathy,” he said coldly. “It won’t change anything.”

He strode toward the door, his movements tense and purposeful. Before I could say another word, he flung it open and slammed it shut behind him, leaving me alone once more.

I sank back onto the bed, my heart heavy. The weight of Hook’s pain and Peter’s guilt hung over me, intertwining in ways I couldn’t fully unravel.

And I was caught in the middle.