Chapter 12 Maximus #3
I wanted—no, I needed to find Kaspar, to check if he was okay with my own eyes.
The lower deck was chaos. Several cannon shots had pierced the hull, leaving gaping holes that let in freezing air.
Puffy was already at work, measuring and cutting wood to size, his thick fingers deft with the saw.
Two-Toed Roch stumbled past me toward Stitches’ cupboard, dripping blood from a nasty gash in her arm all over the floor.
Close behind her, Hawk-Eyes was dragging an unconscious Tony along.
Stitches was going to be very busy today.
But where was Kaspar?
I searched each space I passed, growing more frustrated by the second. My imagination conjured images of him injured, trapped under something, or worse.
I grabbed Moonie as they hurried past. “Moonie! Where’s Ghost? Have you seen him?” I snapped.
They flinched at my tone. “Umm… Well, he was h-h-helping Willy take stock of the cannons, sir! But then I think I saw him go down to the hold?”
I released the poor aeronaut, pivoting to charge over to the hold ladder. My boots pounded against the wooden steps as I descended. The hold was dimly lit—shadows stretched across crates and barrels, creating a maze of darkness.
“Ghost?” I called out, my voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Are you down here?”
No answer.
I moved deeper into the hold, checking behind stacks of supplies and in the narrow spaces between cargo.
Nothing. My heart sank as more scenarios flashed through my mind—him thrown against a wall during our dive, knocked unconscious, bleeding out somewhere I couldn’t see. Or even… fallen overboard?!
Damn it, Kaspar, where are you?
A flicker of movement caught my eye. There he was, hovering outside the engine room, staring through the glass panel at the massive fluxstones that powered our ship. Relief washed over me like a physical force. I pressed my palm to my heart, willing my racing pulse to calm.
“What the fuck are you doing down here?”
He jumped, spinning around with wide eyes. “Oh… um… sorry.” He appeared sheepish, guilty even. “I’ll go find something to do.”
“I’m not concerned that you’re slacking,” I said, softening my tone. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you! I thought…” I shook my head, unable to finish.
Kaspar stepped closer, touching my arm gently. “Hey. I’m okay. Nobody died, even. That’s what Patty said. Everyone’s okay, Reaper.”
The warmth of his fingers on my skin sent a welcome jolt through me. I cleared my throat. “But what are you doing down here?”
“I… wanted to see the fluxstones, after we used all that energy on the shield. I wondered how much they each had left.”
I frowned at him. “That’s not for you to worry about, Kaspar. Let Mad Murray and I worry about that.”
His green eyes widened suddenly. “Holy phoenix tails! You’re hurt!” He reached toward my temple where dried blood had crusted.
“It’s just a scratch,” I said, flinching away.
“That is not just a scratch.” Deep crevices split his forehead. “You need Stitches. For stitches.”
“It’s fine!” I protested, but when I dabbed with my sleeve, it came away bright red. “Alright, it’s not exactly fine, but Stitches is busy with more pressing issues.”
“I can do it!” Kas smiled brightly at me. “Stay here while I get everything. Wait for me in my crate!” Without waiting for my response, he scampered off toward the ladder.
His… crate?
Understanding dawned—the crate I’d found him hiding in.
Five minutes later, I found myself sitting inside the crate, legs awkwardly folded to fit my large frame in the confined space.
The pounding of footsteps hurrying toward me made me smile.
Then the side of the crate shifted, and Kaspar slipped inside with ease.
He grinned at me, his green eyes bright in the dim light filtering through the crate’s slats.
“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 its medical 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 aboard The 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.
“How did you even do it, anyway?” he asked, gesturing to my injured temple.
“My leg gave way midway down the stairs, and my face got overly acquainted with the deck.” I grimaced as a phantom pain rippled through my missing limb, as if it could hear me complaining about it. A soft grunt escaped my lips before I clamped them together.
Kaspar’s eyes darted to my prosthetic, then back to my face. His expression softened with understanding, not pity—a distinction few people managed. Then something else crossed his face, and he nibbled at his lip for a moment before clearing his throat.
“You know, if you wanted to, you could… take it off. Your leg, I mean. Right here.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, so low I barely caught the words. “I could rub it for you. I’ll… make it feel better.”
I froze, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs like a caged animal.
Two warring impulses battled within me—a desperate yearning for his touch, for the relief his gentle fingers might bring to my aching stump, and a visceral terror at the thought of exposing my mutilation to him.
Very few had ever seen it, let alone touched it.
The thought of Kaspar seeing me so vulnerable, so incomplete…
I’ll make it feel better. I had no doubt about that. Better and more. The idea of his hands rubbing all over my thigh excited every part of me. Some parts a little too much.
Kaspar rested his hand on the metal of my prosthetic between my boot and pant leg. The sight of his palm against the metal sent conflicting signals through my body—comfort and panic in equal measure.
But what if he’s repulsed by what he sees? My self-protective defenses screamed at me.
But… what if he’s not?
“I—” The words died in my throat, and I sat there frozen. Before I could form a coherent response, a tremendous crash thundered through the entire ship. Shouts and curses filtered down from the deck above, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintering wood.
“What the hell?” I muttered, instinctively reaching for Kaspar’s arm. The cacophony intensified—men shouting, something metal clashing, the captain’s distinctive bellow cutting through it all.
I brought my hand to Kaspar’s cheek to stroke it with my thumb. “I need to go. It’s absolute carnage up there.”
His eyebrows shot up, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “Oh, okay. I see how it is. Just when things get interesting, duty calls.”
Another crash rattled through the crate, this one louder than before. Greybeard’s booming voice carried down to us, hurling abuse at someone. “You lily-livered sack of donkey shit! I’ll feed your eyeballs to the fucking gulls!”
“Look, we were just celebrating how nobody died today,” I said, reluctantly pulling my hand away. “We need to keep it that way. Besides, you can’t just hide away in this crate again. You’re not a stowaway anymore, pirate.”
Kaspar laughed, starting to move the makeshift door.
Then he paused, looking back at me strangely.
Just when I was going to ask him what the matter was, he lurched forward, pressing a firm kiss to my forehead, right beside the fresh stitches.
Before I could react, he was already scrambling out of the crate, lithe body slipping through the opening.
I sat there, stunned, my fingertips reaching up to touch the spot where his lips had been. The warmth of the kiss lingered on my skin, more effective than any medicine Stitches could have prescribed.
“Kaspar,” I whispered to the empty crate.
My stowaway. Who would have imagined when I first found him here, I’d be sitting in this same crate weeks later, heart racing from a stolen kiss?
There was no denying it. Kaspar had now stowed away in the most heavily guarded compartment I possessed: my heart.
And unlike when I’d discovered him hiding, I had no intention of forcing him out.