Devourer of Men: A Captain Hook, Crocodile, and Wendy Darling Reimagining

When we make it above ground, I breathe a little easier and the pain in my shoulder subsides. But every step saps more and more energy from my body and by the time we’re passing the kitchen, I’m leaning heavily on Roc.

“Where was James going when he left your room?” I ask Roc.

“He didn’t say.”

“We’re never going to find him.”

“Yes we will.”

He sounds so sure.

Roc stops in the center of the foyer, his eyes going unfocused.

“What is it?”

“Sounds,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes to concentrate. “There are guards coming in a side entrance. Somewhere behind us.”

“I’m on it,” Asha says.

“Wait! Alone?”

She jogs backwards as she says, “They don’t call me Bonescar for nothing.”

“She’s incredibly loyal to you,” Roc observes as he guides us forward again.

“We’re loyal to one another.”

“I’m glad you have her.”

“Me too.”

We make it down the east corridor before Roc stops us again.

I groan from a slice of pain.

“Shhh,” he orders.

I scowl up at him, but do as he says, damn near holding my breath.

“I can hear him,” Roc finally says and then he’s racing forward, towing me beside him.

We spill into the grand foyer.

Hally is there along with Merath and several of the guard.

We’re not quiet, by any means, and our shuffling over the marble floor pulls Hally’s attention. He immediately looks surprised to see me.

So it is true. Theo wasn’t lying about Mareth paying him to imprison me, and maybe she even did it at the prince’s behest. Mareth and her powers must be how Hally stopped aging. And if I had to guess, it probably had something to do with the king suddenly becoming ill, and my not being able to save him. They were working against me the entire time and I had no idea.

In the center of the foyer, swaying on his knees, eyes heavy, is James.

“What did you do to him?” Roc asks.

“He has something that belongs to me,” Mareth answers.

It’s almost startling, her transformation from meek, quiet bride-to-be, to clearly the one in charge.

“If it’s something he can give, he’ll give it,” Roc says.

“I can’t,” Hook mumbles.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It doesn’t belong to him,” Mareth goes on. “So he has no right to keep it.”

“What is it?” I ask again.

Mareth turns to face me, hands clasped in front of her. “Part of my power.”

“Myth Maker power,” Roc adds.

Mareth’s gaze cuts to Roc. She says nothing, which I think is all the confirmation I need.

I only vaguely remember reading about the secret societies in the library one night while Asha worked on a translation. According to the book, there are many societies in the Isles, but The Myth Makers are one of the most powerful and mysterious. It doesn’t help that they’re based in Lostland, the only island no one can point to on a map.

“How long has he had this power?” I ask still hanging from Roc’s side.

“Longer than he’s known you.”

It’s not hard to connect the dots. There’s an entire section in the castle library on the transference of power through bindings, pregnancies, plagues, and blood oaths.

Which means James had part of this power when I got pregnant.

Which means…

“What does this power do?” I slip out of Roc’s grasp and I hear him grumble as I do. “Would it make someone invincible? Would it give them the ability to heal?”

Mareth smiles at me. “It could, yes.”

I should feel relief that the mystery of my own power has been solved. But it just makes my stomach churn with anxiety.

The consequences of having Myth Maker power must be numerous. And furthermore, if the baby had power, then the entire Darling line starting with me is part of the Myth Makers.

I can’t even wrap my head around that right now. Not while there’s a knife stuck in my shoulder and James is on his knees in front of the witch that began this entire thing.

“Whatever the power,” Roc says coming up behind me. “Can it be removed without hurting the Captain?”

Mareth frowns, but there is nothing in her demeanor that says she’s sympathetic. “I’m afraid not.”

“Then you’re not getting it back.” Roc pushes forward, but several guards step in front of him, swords and armor clattering as they draw their weapons.

Roc smiles at them, running his tongue over his sharp incisors.

“I’m sorry, Crocodile. You’ll have to find some other pirate to warm your bed.” Mareth pulls a sacrée from a sheath strapped at her hip.

“No!” I shout.

James sways when he sees the weapon as if his mind is trying to tell his body to move, but it won’t follow through.

I turn to Roc to beg him to do something, but he’s already a blur racing across the foyer.