Page 136 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
I blocked his next three strikes, the impact of each jarring up my arms. With a sudden thrust, I drove my blade into the leather of his vest, between his ribs. He staggered back, eyes wide with surprise.
Over his shoulder, I could see Hawk-Eyes parrying Hunter’s blow, but only just. Sweat beaded on her brow as she countered with a desperate slash. Hunter danced backward, his footwork impeccable despite the ship’s movements.
With what was perhaps the last of his strength, Maneater swung his cutlass in a wide arc. I dropped to one knee, my prosthetic protesting with a mechanical groan. His blade passed harmlessly overhead, and I drove my sword upward into his gut.
My gaze shot back to Hawk-Eyes. For a moment, it seemed like she might have gained the upper hand. Her blade whistled through the air, forcing Hunter to retreat. But as she pressed her advantage, her boot caught on a loose coil of rope.
I shoved Maneater’s dying body aside, already moving toward Hawk-Eyes, but I was too far away. Hunter’s eyes gleamed withcruel triumph. In that split-second of imbalance, he struck. His rapier slipped past her guard and plunged into her chest. Hawk-Eyes gasped, her eyes wide with shock as Hunter twisted the blade before yanking it free.
She crumpled to the deck, her cutlass clattering beside her.
A scream of anguish tore through the chaos—a sound so raw and primal it momentarily froze the battle around us. Stitches stood at the hatchway, her weathered face contorted in horror as she watched her daughter collapse.
We all chose this life, didn’t we?
Her words from yesterday, in the galley, echoed in my mind.
But had we chosen, really? Had Hawk-Eyes chosen to die on this deck, betrayed by her own crewmates? Had Stitches chosen to watch her daughter bleed out before her eyes?
The old woman moved with a speed I wouldn’t have thought possible, pulling twin surgical knives from her apron. Within a blink, she was upon Hunter, driving both blades into his neck with surgical precision. Blood fountained as she severed his carotid arteries, her face a mask of cold fury.
Hunter’s eyes bulged in shock. He opened his mouth, but only a wet gurgle emerged before he collapsed, twitching, at Stitches’s feet.
My throat constricted as I watched Stitches drop to her knees beside Hawk-Eyes, her blood-slicked hands making a futile effort to press against her daughter’s wound. The fierce determination in the old woman’s eyes—the same determination I’d seen countless times as she stitched up my own injuries—now battled against despair.
I took an involuntary step toward them. AmongThe Black Wraith’saeronauts, Hawk-Eyes was one of the first I’d grown to respect after coming aboard. A tireless worker with a large heart. She didn’t deserve to die like this.
“Stitches,” I called out, my voice breaking. “I’m—”
But the words died in my throat as Butcher’s hulking form disappeared down the hatch, dragging Kaspar with him. The look of terror on Kaspar’s face as he vanished below had molten fury coursing through my veins.
Plug him in.
My body felt torn in half—one part desperately wanting to comfort Stitches in her grief, the other part knowing I had to find Kaspar.
“End this, Reaper!” Stitches shouted, as if reading my thoughts. Her voice was steel despite the tears streaming down her weathered face. “Don’t waste her sacrifice.”
With a final, agonized glance at mother and daughter, I turned toward the hatch.
I fought my way across the deck, my sword an extension of my arm as I cut through the opposition. Willy appeared at my side, wielding a short blade with determination in his young eyes.
“We’ve got your back, Reaper!” he shouted. “Go get him!”
I nodded, grateful for the loyalty. We reached the ladder, but a figure stepped between me and my destination.
Viper miraculously reappeared, blocking my path. His stupid fucking hat somehow still perched on his head despite the carnage. His sword gleamed in the sunlight, his dark eyes narrowed with hatred.
“You’ll have to go through me first.”
I shrugged off my long coat, tossing it to the deck, and the brass buttons clinked against the wood. “Gladly!”
Our blades met with a screech of metal on metal. Viper fought like the pirate he was—all show and intimidation, designed to terrify opponents into submission before skill became necessary. I fought like the fleet officer I’d been trained to be—patient, methodical, waiting for the opening his flashy style would inevitably create.
When he twirled his sword around in a flourish, I aimed mine for his open side, but Viper was too quick. He blocked my strike, and I wanted to growl in frustration. Despite all his misgivings, Viper had always been an excellent swordsman. It was the one thing he had going for him and likely the only reason he was able to maintain his position as captain for so long.
A few of the crew formed a sparse ring around us, their faces a gallery of bloodlust and fear. Some shouted for Viper, others for me, but most watched in silence, knowing their futures hung on the outcome of our dance of steel.
Every second we crossed blades was another second Kaspar was being dragged below. I needed to end this quickly, but Viper knew it too, using my urgency against me, drawing out the fight with defensive parries and retreats.
