Chapter 17
Stitched Wounds
CASPIAN
The sharpened needle penetrated my sensitive flesh for what felt like the millionth time, its searing nip confirming that I was still somehow alive.
Every muscle in my body ached from purging the poison, my head throbbing with the same persistent drum.
But it wasn’t human fragility that threatened to suffocate my sanity.
It was her. Rohen Levitte.
She was supposed to remain a random woman I purchased, a whore from Seirdra’s Veil who was merely meant to fill a gap in my crew, to serve my men.
Yet my thoughts on the matter clashed. Where a deep part of me loathed her beyond understanding and didn’t give a damn what happened to any aspect of her life, another wished to gut anyone who came near her.
But neither feeling made fucking sense. It’s as if I were being pulled in two different directions, commanded by unseen forces I couldn’t understand.
She was a godsdamned dangerous little thing—the growing and nearly undeniable influence of my undoing.
My little siren.
My Mizani. Whatever the fuck that meant.
When I opened my eyes and found her standing there with Syoran, the stone wall I’d built around myself cracked.
The care painting her expression, and the pleas buried within her stare, a beautiful emerald green that even the finest jewel would never compare to, had sent me reeling.
Buried in the recesses of my heart, a flicker of hope had ignited, a desire for a potential life I knew the fates would never grant me.
It was one where she’d join our crew of her own volition, not because of forced circumstance.
Where she would sail the unexplored expanses alongside me, not as a captive, but as a…
Fuck.
In that moment, I knew I had no other choice but to slip on the cold mask I’d perfected, because if I hadn’t—gods if I hadn’t—I would’ve taken her right there.
She was addictive in a way I knew would destroy me, but I would be a lying man if I claimed she hadn’t become my newest obsession.
I wished to taste her intricacies, to dip my fingers in her waters and relish in her sweetness.
She’d become a craving I would never satiate, and that recognition was near-maddening.
If I didn’t get my hands on her in the ways I wished, ways in which she consented to, I would undoubtedly lose myself.
She was intoxicating and just as fiery as I was; I wanted nothing more than for our blazes to join so we could watch the world burn beneath us.
She’d become the single most irreplaceable treasure on my ship, for there was a reason I called her my siren: she’d drawn me in with her melodic essence the moment I laid my eyes on her.
“Cas—”
Cutting Syoran off, I shook my head as a hiss of agony escaped me. “Don’t.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” He smirked, amused by my irritation.
“Bastard. As if your cheeky grin doesn’t give away every thought running through your mind.”
“I don’t have a single clue what accusations you have elected to cast my way, Caspian Vayne.”
“As if the eye-fucking you tossed my direction the moment she stormed out of this room wasn’t word enough, Syoran Kao.”
“Oh, are we talking about the redhead?”
Running a hand down my face, I groaned. “You were talking about the redhead. For the gods’ sake, you were scolding me like a child. Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft for our prisoner.”
“Where I’ve grown soft, you’ve grown hard.” He shrugged indifferently, his body swaying dramatically with my pathetic attempt at a punch. “What? You don’t like my double-edged joke?”
“I am not interested in a woman like her.” I lied.
“Right.” He dipped his chin with irrefutable amusement, tying off the thread he’d used to stitch my wound shut. Freeing a serrated blade from his waist, he sawed off its remnants, his near-black eyes lifting to meet mine. “And there isn’t a depiction of ‘North’ on a compass.”
“You’re a prick. You know that?”
“And you’re a prick who’s in denial, Captain.”
Exhaling, I couldn’t help but allow a smile to bloom across my lips. “It seems you’re merely taking advantage of this moment because I am bedridden.”
“Bedridden or not, I still easily put you on your ass when we spar.” He swatted my hand away as I reached for the tray, specifically the alcohol bottle that adorned it. “And, bedridden or not, we all know who wishes to be rode.”
“If you are jealous of my adventures with Saph, you could just say so.”
“Sorry to be a kick to your ego,” he hummed playfully, pushing himself up to stand and wiping his bloodied hands on his breeches. “But you aren’t exactly my type.”
Rolling my eyes, I tossed a mirrored jeer in his direction. “Right. I forgot I’m not regal enough to meet your standards. My apologies, my fellow co-captain.”
Before stepping away from me, he merely shrugged off the comment—even though we both knew the truth buried within it.
I watched him intently as he moved around my quarters as if they were his own.
Opening the cedar chest beside my bed, he sorted through the fresh, folded, and stacked linens.
Once satisfied with his selection, he shut its lid with a care I’d never demanded and turned back to me.
“I don’t believe my interests are of the highest importance right now, considering you practically died.” He lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “Which would’ve been an extremely annoying inconvenience, might I add.”
“Oh, by the grace of Ellira,” I groaned, slowly unfolding the fabric to avoid tearing apart his crafted work to my side. “What herbal experiment did you add to your roll this time?”
“Who said I’ve even smoked yet?”
“Yet.”
I moved to reach for the back of my collar to free myself from the destroyed, crimson-stained, and sweat-laden material that still clung to me, but Syoran stopped me, grabbing both of my wrists before I could even lift them over my chest.
“And since I haven’t smoked yet, I would greatly appreciate it if you, for once, allowed someone to aid you after an injury.”
“I don’t—”
“Yeah, yeah. The typical ‘I don’t need it because I’ve managed on my own before.’” His unwavering stare held mine, a deep exhale escaping him. “This isn’t that, Cas. They do not own you anymore.”
Cutting him off, my snapped reply came far harsher than I’d intended. “We both know that is the furthest thing from the truth.”
“On the sea,” he snarled, his grip tightening, “there is no such thing as fucking ownership, Caspian Vayne. Especially from the epitomized definition of corruption. The crown.”
“I am not going to argue with you.” The lump in my throat that never seemed to shrink suddenly became too hard to swallow. “We both know the implications of my contract.”
“That isn’t a fucking contract! That is your fucking life!”
“AND YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?” I screamed, my voice fracturing under the weight of my past. “Every time he assaulted me, violating my innocence from the very beginning. Every fucking time he beat me to the point I couldn’t breathe, I was reminded, fucking warned, of what would happen if I forgot my place in his world.
This?” Motioning to the space around us, my attention snapped back to him.
“This is a privilege that could easily be taken away. If the damnation the gods have graced me with in this life only includes this ship and the men on it, then I will take it without rebuttal and live with the king’s hand shackled to my throat. ”
Unwavering, the words that came from him delivered a blow I wasn’t anticipating. “You cannot gift us a life of freedom if you refuse to fight for it for yourself.”
Silence. Unearthing stillness.
Blanketing us like a noose that threatened to fray the worn strands of our friendship, the tension in the room only seemed to grow the longer neither of us spoke—the longer I clung to every syllable he’d shot my way.
And while he wasn’t inherently wrong, or even by definition incorrect, it didn’t make his disappointment any less painful.
Just as it didn’t diminish my willingness to put myself in the line of fire for those I loved, for it would always be a trait I would never let go of.
“Caspian, I—”
Pulling my hands from his grasp, I shook my head. “Just… Don’t worry about it.”
“No.” His fingers snaked into my hair as he forced me to look at him. “You’re not going to do that again. You are not icing me out.”
My lips parted, but the drum of knuckles against the door prevented me from speaking.
It was unclear which deckhand the booming voice belonged to, but the news it delivered sparked something within me.
It was instinctual, almost primal in a way, and the dire need to get my ass on the deck overrode everything else.
“Cap, your prisoner has lost her mind. She’s crawled up on the gunwale and is threatening to toss herself overboard.”
Oh, my little siren, you could try to swim the waters responsible for the death of many sailors, but it wouldn’t stop me from exploring every inch of them to ensure you remained by my side.