Forbidden For You.=Sequel= SLOW UPDATES

Chapter Thirteen: King and Prince.

Dedicated to nightmarekitten13 for being a consistent commenter and POV judge ;) I hope this chapter satisfies your fancy, thanks for being a great reader!

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Chapter Thirteen: King and Prince.

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Angel's P.O.V(surprise!)

Sammy is coming to see if I'm alive.

He is worried that I am not; that I've been killed by his father.

He has disowned Peter Pan as the man who raised him.

This knowledge is brought to me in regular flashes that occur across my vision as it happens, because mermaids know all and everything that occurs on the Neverland. We know the works of the universe, the secrets of the Creation, the answers to the mysteries. We know, but cannot tell. That is our punishment.

With hurried fingers, I tighten the woven seaweed vines of my newly sewed clothing as I feel Sammy's approach coming closer and closer. I had headed Peter's warning and made a shirt out of the plants I had around me. Using a green seaweed and algea combination, I copied the pattern used by Kaytee Pan, his wife, and Sammy's mother. As Sammy was almost to his destination, my heart rate increased, and I quickly knotted my hair into a long braid over my left shoulder, tucking any other loose threads behind my ears, hoping I looked OK. I placed my hands in my lap and trained my gaze to the cavern entrance that Peter had already used.

Thirty seconds later, Sammy appears in my line of vision.

His eyes widen, and a small, impish smile creases onto his slightly paled lips as he steps forward.

“You're-You're alive.” he breathes, stumbling forward and collapsing onto his knees. It's now that I notice how weak he is. His breathing his slightly labored, and no blood is gracing his dimpled cheeks, making him seem glossy and pale.

“Very much so, yes.” I answer, and stroke his hair. “But you aren't in nearly as good of shape, Sammy. You need to rest.” I observe, taking in his disheveled state. He is only half clothed, with just his pants on, and I wince when I see the fresh pink scars running down his chest and torsoe.

“I had to see...you...” He trails off weakly, but we both know he was about to say 'if you were still alive'. I shake my my head, and pat my lap, motioning for him to lay his head down. He obeys, sighing in relief as he rests.

I graze my finger tips up and down his chest and stomach, watching the goosebumps pop along the trails I leave.

“Mmm,” he purrs and closes his eyes, “that feels good.”

I smile at his obliviousness, because in reality, I'm healing the scars; using my purity to mend the fresh wounds that the fairy dust hadn't apparently gotten to, making them turn from pink, to their usual light tan color in a matter of seconds. When I'm done, he opens his eyes, and looks at me, thoughtful and measured.

His irises are the exact same color as his fathers; a thought both unnerving and intriguing.

“What are you thinking?” he whispers, placing a hand over mine that is resting on his cheek. I blink, not knowing what to say because in honesty, I'm not really thinking about anything at all. But this answer will not satisfy him, I know, so I search my mind and choose a viable answer.

“You need to go back to your father and apologize.”

He stiffened immediately. His eyes darkened slightly, his brows knitting together, pouting. Tensely, he sat up and wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his chin on the tops. He was silent for a few minutes, and I continued to drag the tips of my fingers up and down his spine in a soothing manner.