Page 67 of Crossbones
“Jesus, Caspian, what happened?”
I give Van a smile but I think it’s more of a grimace. “Just feeding the sharks, Van.”
“Sharks?” Van hauls me below towards my cabin. “I told you they were a bad omen—”
I tune him out, replaying the vision of Malik sinking into the dark unknown, replacing it with every bad touch, every whispered word. It won’t ever erase what he’s done, or bring my sister back, but it makes me feel like he doesn’t have control over me. Thaddeus’ words replay in my head, finishing out the conversation from my earlier memory.
“One day, you’ll get to watch him die and I hope you use that to heal. I hope you use that to take back all the power he thought he could take.”
I have control now—the man who’s tormented my nightmares, and who made me sufferagainby his hand, is gone. Luckily, I hadn’t let the doubts about the origin of my sexuality stop me growing up—Thaddeus had been pretty adamant that it wasn’t something that man controlled. But I realize now, that I think a part of me had continued to carry that doubt around with me.
I’d shoved it away and ignored it, but maybe what I needed to do was give it more compassion instead of giving it another mask to wear.
Van kicks the door of my cabin open. I extract myself from him and perch on the edge of the table. I gingerly peel off my shirt, biting back a hiss of pain as it aggravates literally every injury I have. Van whistles low as he takes in my general state.
“I’m going to go get some supplies,” he says.
“You do that,” I grumble.
I pour myself a shot of rum, attempting to stop the tremor in my hands. It doesn’t help much. I grab my shirt and start to dab at all the wounds, feeling my back pull and burn as the salt dries. My thoughts drift to Blackwell and I’m torn between waiting for Van to get back and leaving to go look for my pirate.
My pirate.Yeah, there’s no denyingthatanymore. He’s stuck with me through some dark shit, even volunteering to fight my demons for me—something I didn’t even really have time to swoon over but now that I’m thinking about it is driving me insane with how hot it is. What’s between us is possessive and more than a little dangerous but damn it if I’m not already addicted.
JAMES
I check Harrison over quickly but he’s none the worse for wear. A few cuts and scratches but nothing serious.
“Take us away from the wreckage,” I order. “Get us out of this mist.”
He nods and turns to bark orders at the crew. We’d lost two men in the fight, and three more were in critical condition from the cannon blasts but otherwise we’d come out of it all in a good way. I clutch Caspian’s cutlass in my hand. I’d retrieved it from the sinking ship and my jaw clenches as I think back on the fight.
What started as my usual calculating violence—the ruthlessness I employ during a fight—quickly dissolved as the anger from the last few weeks completely overwhelmed me.
The moment I hit the deck, I was a storm. No one could touch me.
Except for the dagger that nearly took my head off. Thank god the angle was bad.
After Caspian’s well-timed throw at the enemy trying to shoot me in the back, I’d watched him prowl up to the helm and quickly lost him in the mist. I wished I could go cut Malick down with him, but it wasn’t my fight, so I took out my rage on the rest of the crew.
The battle was nearly over when I happened to glance up at the quarterdeck just in time to watch Caspian and Malik tangle and disappear over the edge. My stomach lurched at the sight, and I took a step in that direction only to get wrapped up in the remaining enemy.
Thankfully, I know he’s still alive because once the fighting was over I watched him haul himself onto theTempest.I catch sight of Van coming from belowdeck.
“Where is he?” I demand.
Van nods behind him, opening his mouth to say something but I don’t stay to listen. When I reach the door of Caspian’s room, I don’t bother to knock but shove it open and walk in.
Caspian has his back to me. He’s shirtless, trying to paw at the gash on his side. I stop abruptly, caught off guard at the sight of him—salt water glistening on his not yet dry skin, blood running from several cuts and his hair a wild mess on his head. He looks utterly devastating and my blood heats.
“Jesus, Van, take forever,” Caspian complains. “Come over here and help—”
He turns and abruptly cuts off what he’s saying, seeing that I’m not Van. He gives me a once-over, and that feeling in my gut intensifies. I haven’t cleaned up from the fight yet and I can feel my clothing growing stiff with salt and blood. I clear my throat and raise Caspian’s sword, my excuse for coming in here—or so I tell myself. I set it down on the bed.
“Found this,” I say gruffly. “We’re moving away from the wreckage.”
Caspian nods, not saying anything. His eyes darken as they take in the state of me. I briefly see the flash of hunger before he half turns away, sloshing alcohol on his side as he resumes his ministrations. He curses softly as he tries to thread a needle with hands that have a slight tremor to them. I know the feeling well. He’s still brimming with adrenaline from the fight—
I take the needle from him without a word, deftly threading it. I drench the entire thing in alcohol and nod to the table.
