The Old King ~OUAT Panfiction (Book 3)

Target Practice

Suddenly, disbelief overcame Anne. They might have belonged together by this point, but they still had control over what happened to their bodies. Pan was charming and he was undoubtedly attractive in almost every way, but he was a hot mess. There was a heated reverie in his eyes that shone his truest intentions. How could he possibly think that his hands had a right to Anne's body without having the patience to be granted permission? Of course, he was Peter Pan -- but she, she was herself.

A sharp stinging spread across Pan's cheek when Anne's hand made contact. Pan loudly cursed, then Anna pushed passed him. "Stay away from me!" Pan watched her leave, rubbing the redness away as a frisky smirk danced on his lips. To stay away from her, meant a cry for help. She didn't want him to stay away, she wanted him even closer.

"You can't run from me forever, Anna!"

"I can for as long as you want to keep up this charade, Pan!" She echoed.

Back at the camp, the lost boys played with a crossbow, dipping arrows into a small, black jar of Dreamshade, then passing them. A lost boy bumped Anne in the ribs with his elbow. "You wanna play, prisoner girl?" The crossbow was passed to the boy, then he forced it against the girl's chest. Her heart thumped wildly against the shaved and polished wood. "It's a little thing we like to call, /target practice/. Ever shoot a crossbow before?" The lost boy went on. His name was Preston.

Preston had shaggy brown hair and gray eyes. He was taller and one of the few boys that liked to involve Anne. When she wanted to climb the wall, Preston didn't protest, in fact, he was rooting for her -- and suddenly, /suddenly/ Anne wanted to know why. "Are you -- are you sure?" She stammered.

"C'mon, Preston, she'll shoot somebody's eye out!" Another boy groused.

"Shut up," Preston countered, glancing back at Anne and shrugged.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She inquired next. Preston chuckled.

"I thought what you did earlier was pretty cool. That wall is hard, but that didn't seem to intimidate you," he explained.

Anne quirked a brow, snorting. "I fell," she stated, obviously not as impressed with herself as he was.

"So? You made it pretty far without a harness. What, are you saying you can't do it?" He retorted.

"No!" Anne protested. "I can, just give me a target," she prodded. Preston smugly smirked, then turned to stand beside her, hand laying flat between her shoulder blades. Anne's stomach flip-flopped at the delicacy of his fingertips on her back, and the nervous excitement she felt for finally being acknowledged and respected.

Presently, a pair of bulky lost boys were dragging a reluctant Alec to a tree – the boy that Sawyer teased, the one that was always bothered by the younger lost boys. Anne's eyes widened as they shoved him into the tree, while one of them were tossed an apple – at which, they placed on his head of full black hair. Anne relented to move, at first. Why couldn't her target have been a boy she didn't feel sorry for?

Standing before the uneasy lost boy, Anne tried not to show sympathy for him. She watched his adam's apple bob up and down as she positioned herself. She stood a good seven feet from him, adjusting her footwork and her arms, and hold on the bow. She studied the apple attentively and the necessary angle she would have to shoot to hit it atop Alec's head. Then, as she was preparing to shoot, Alec clenched his eyelids shut. The whole camp fell silent, finger on the button to launch the arrow, and Anne breathed in deeply.

At last, just then, she squeezed the trigger and the arrow flew. Alec bellowed out and the arrow struck. A look of horror dawned on Anne's face.