Page 65 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
“I told Hawk-Eyes you’re with Viper, and I told Sparrow you’re with Patty,” he announced triumphantly.
“So… they’ll all be running around like headless chickens looking for me?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Correct!” he said, seeming rather pleased.
He dumped his supplies on the crate floor—a damp cloth from the galley, a needle and thread, and some salve. The small space was filled with the scent of medicinal herbs.
He considered me for a moment, and I felt pinned by the scrutiny of his gaze.
“I’m going to wash it first, okay?” he asked, fingers hovering near my face as if nervous to touch me.
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Something about his concern for my well-being felt foreign yet welcome—a gentleness I’d never experienced, not truly.
Ever so tenderly, Kas brushed my hair from my forehead, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. Electric prickles spread from each point of contact, and I had to consciously stop myself from leaning into his touch.
He held my face with one hand, wiping with the other in soft, rhythmic strokes that matched his breathing. The cool cloth felt heavenly against my skin, and I soon found myself enjoying the attention far more than I should.
Before I started purring like a kitten, I asked, “How do you know how to stitch wounds?”
Kaspar laughed softly as he threaded the needle. “The factory where we all worked—my parents, Kayla, and me—it was awful. We’d get hurt all the time. The machinery was ancient, and it never got maintained.” He put the needle between his teeth, rolling up his sleeve to show me a scar near his elbow, partially concealed with freckles. “That’s from when I fell asleep for a second, and it got me. Anyway, my dad taught me and Kayla how to stitch up each other’s wounds. We saved money by not seeing the doctor that way.”
“Right.”
“The factory is long gone now,” he said, reaching over to pinch the skin of my forehead. “You might have a scary pirate scar after this, by the way.”
“That’s okay. I can invent another story to go along with it.”
Kas grinned at me.
“So the factory is gone?” I was desperate for him to keep talking, to glean all the pieces of him he was willing to offer me. This vibrant, pale man with his freckled skin and clever hands—I wanted to know everything.
Kas pressed the needle into my skin without warning. A sharp pain lanced through my temple, and I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Hold still,” he admonished, his voice soft but firm. “But yeah, it burned down. The fat cats finally got what they deserved for keeping everything in shit condition. But it came at a price.” He paused in his threading, his fingers going still against my skin. “My parents both died in it.”
A soft gasp left my lips. The matter-of-fact way he delivered such devastation… it struck me, deep in the heart. Without thinking, I reached up to cup his face, my palm stroking against his cheek, enjoying the dusting of stubble I found there.
“Kas… I’m so sorry.”
His expression crumpled slightly, a terrible sadness washing over his features. For a moment, the mask of bravado he wore fell away completely, revealing the wounded young man beneath. His eyes glistened in the dim light, and he blinked rapidly.
“Thanks,” he whispered, leaning almost imperceptibly into my touch. “We miss them a lot. But it’s okay. We’re still a family. Kayla, Cody, and me.”
He resumed his stitching, his fingers steady despite the emotion in his voice. I remained still, letting him work, thinking about what he’d shared. A family torn apart, yet still holding onto each other. Little Cody was probably missing him so much.
With a few more careful pulls of the thread, Kas finished the stitches. His fingertips brushed my forehead as he reached for the small pot of salve.
“This might sting a little,” he warned, scooping some of the greenish paste onto his fingertips. With tender gentleness, he rubbed the salve into the freshly stitched wound.
Kaspar’s fingers lingered on my forehead, gently massaging the salve into the wound. The touch had long since served itsmedical purpose, but he continued rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. I should have stopped him, but the sensation was too pleasant, too comforting to interrupt.
A smile crept across my face before I could catch it. His eyes met mine, and something electric passed between. Without thinking, I caught his wrist, turning his palm upward. His hand was surprisingly soft, even with the calluses from his work as a blacksmith and his time aboardThe Black Wraith.
I pressed my lips against his knuckles, a gesture so intimate it surprised even me. “Thank you.”
His cheeks flushed pink beneath his freckles. “You’re welcome.”
We sat in silence for a moment.
