Page 139 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
Blood poured from the wounds as Murray removed the attachments that had been buried deep in Kaspar’s lovely skin. Dark crimson stained his pale freckled back, pooling at the base of his spine.
“Ariella,” I managed, my voice a rasp. “Go—”
“I’ll see what’s in Stitches’s cupboard!” she said, already moving toward the door.
“The restraints,” I said to Murray, who nodded grimly and began working on the metal digging into Kaspar’s wrists.
When the last restraint fell away, Kaspar slumped forward. I caught him, easing his limp form down as Murray helped lower him to the deck. We laid him gently on the ground, curled onto his side, his head cradled in my lap. Willy ripped off his own shirt, pressing it against Kaspar’s back, where blood flowed freely, creating a small puddle on the wood.
Kaspar’s eyes remained stubbornly closed, and my thundering heart sank further.
I brushed damp ginger hair from his forehead, noting how the blue glow beneath his skin had faded to almost nothing. His freckles stood out starkly against skin gone ashen gray.
“Ghost,” I whispered, pressing kisses to his forehead, tasting salt and copper. “Kaspar. Come back to me.”
He didn’t move—he didn’t so much as twitch, his breathing so shallow and quiet that I barely felt the rise and fall of his chest.
I cradled Kaspar’s lifeless body, my fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face, mapping those lovely freckles I now knew better than the back of my own hand. This was it then. I’d failed him.
Weeks ago, when he tried to run away at Duskwater Harbor, I’d stopped him. I’d begged him to stay with me, promising I’d protect him, get him to Asteris safe and sound.
If only I’d not been so selfish, if only I’d let him leave, take his chances with another crew, one with a less volatile captain.
Then he’d still be alive.
I’d done this.
I’d killed him.
My stomach lurched violently, acid burning the back of my throat as I fought to keep bile down. The shaking started in my hands first, then spread through my arms to my shoulders, my entire body quaking with the effort of containing the howl building in my chest. I bit down hard on my lower lip. Blood. Copper. Pain. Anything to ground me as I struggled not to fall apart.
I pressed my forehead to Kaspar’s, willing warmth back into his skin, silently bargaining with any goddess who might be listening.Take my other leg. Take both arms. Take everything I have left. Just give him back.
The door burst open as Ariella rushed back in, arms laden with bandages and a small leather case of Stitches’s surgical tools. She knelt beside us, grabbing Kaspar’s wrist to find his pulse.
“It’s all my fault,” I confessed. “I did this.”
“It’s only been a minute, Reap—”
“No, he’s gone,” I hissed, through the lump in my throat. “And it’s my fault.”
Ariella placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her touch almost unbearable against my raw nerves. “I’ll try to stop the bleeding,” she said, already reaching for Willy’s makeshift compress. “We can clean and bandage the wound properly.”
I tightened my grip on Kaspar, cradling him against me while she applied a thick, green-tinged salve to the wound. The pungent smell of herbs filled the air. Ariella then pressed a cleanpad over the area and began wrapping bandages around his torso, her movements precise and gentle.
“There,” she said, securing the final wrap. “That should hold for now.”
Murray stood back, giving us space, while Willy hovered anxiously at the edge of our small circle. No one spoke. The only sound beyond the occasional noise from up above was the creaking of the ship and the shallow, almost imperceptible whisper of Kaspar’s breathing.
We waited, suspended in that terrible moment between hope and despair.
Ten heartbeats passed. Twenty. Fifty.
Then Kaspar’s chest heaved with a sudden, violent intake of breath, his body jerking in my arms. His lips parted, releasing a feeble moan that sounded like music to my ears.
“Kayla…” he whispered, so faint I could barely hear him. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. “Kayla, run…”
My heart stuttered back to life, relief flooding my veins like wildfire. I cupped his face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones.
