Page 49 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
I’d have to drink tonight, alone in my cabin. Just enough to dull these unwelcome thoughts. The bottle of rum hidden beneath my bed would serve its purpose, carrying me into dreamless sleep rather than lying awake, straining to hear footsteps on the deck that might signal Ghost’s return.
The path steepened as I approached the city’s upper level. Duskwater’s airship docking bays perched atop the massive walls, accessible only by guarded pathways. A sensible precaution in a den of thieves. Pirates might rob, murder, and pillage across the skies, but they needed somewhere safe to drop anchor and spend their coin. Duskwater provided that security—for a price.
No pirate would risk sabotaging another’s ship here. The punishment was swift and final: permanent banishment from the only truly safe harbor in these parts. It was one rule even the most lawless respected.
The night air cooled as I reached the upper level. Guards patrolled the walkways between docked airships, their lanterns casting long shadows across the wooden planking.The Black Wraithloomed ahead, her viper figurehead gleaming in the moonlight.
A burly guard stood at attention across from our gangplank, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt, and I nodded curtly as I approached.
I trudged aboardThe Black Wraith, the gangplank creaking beneath my weight. The ship felt eerily quiet with the crew in Duskwater’s taverns, throwing away their hard-earned coin on watered-down rum and card games.
Perfect. Some blessed solitude.
My cabin beckoned. I navigated the familiar path across the main deck, the faint sound of banging and chittering floated through the air.
Then I froze.
A slender figure stood with his back to me, hovering outside my cabin door. The pale skin and copper hair were unmistakable even in the dim light.
Ghost.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Was he looking for me? Had he slipped away from the crew, hoping to join me in my cabin, finally away from prying eyes? The thought sent a rush of heat through my veins.
I opened my mouth to call out when I noticed movement at Ghost’s feet. Sprocket was there, the vexling’s fur shimmering between copper and gray as they scrabbled at my door, making small chirping sounds of distress. Their luminous amber eyes caught the light as they scratched frantically at the wood.
What in the skies was happening?
“Ghost?”
He whirled around, eyes wide with surprise. “Reaper,” fell from his lips.
Sprocket trilled and bounded toward me, wrapping around my good leg with unexpected affection. They tugged on my pants, pointing at Ghost. That’s when I noticed the large canvas sack clutched in Ghost’s hand. My gaze traveled from the bulging sack to his face—flushed, guilty, unmistakably caught in the act.
The realization hit me like a cannonball.
Ghost was running away.
LeavingThe Black Wraith.
Leaving me.
A cold emptiness spread through my body, starting in my gut and radiating outward until even my fingertips felt numb. The air seemed to vanish from my lungs. Twenty seconds ago, I’d been filled with elation, ready to pull him through my door, throw him onto my bed, and rip his clothes off with my teeth. And now, I was absolutely crushed.
I’d been here before—that sickening moment when you realized someone you care for was already gone. Eric had worn the same expression when he’d turned to the officers and ordered my arrest. That cold, detached look as he said, “Takehim away,” like I meant nothing. Like every moment we’d shared had been a lie.
I stared at Ghost, who continued to keep very still.
How could I have been so blind? So foolish? Of course he wanted to escape. He’d never chosen this life—I’d forced it upon him as an alternative to death.
And yet, some naïve part of me had believed our stolen moments together meant something. That perhaps he’d found a place here. With the crew.
With me.
“Going somewhere?” My voice emerged colder than ice.
Ghost’s eyes widened, terror flashing across his face. He clutched his sack tighter, knuckles whitening. For a heartbeat, he looked genuinely afraid I might strike him—like a cornered animal anticipating the killing blow.
That look gutted me. After everything, he still believed I could hurt him. The weight of the Reaper crashed down on my shoulders, heavier than it had ever felt before. I’d cultivated fear so effectively that even he—one of the few people who’d glimpsed behind my mask—expected violence from me.
