Page 90 of Pirate Witch

“Is this our workshop date?” Nilsa finally asks, breaking the silence.

I snort, amazed she remembered after all the crazy that’s just gone down. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

She trails one lightly manicured nail down the edge of a bomb casing, then lifts up a pair of magnifying spectacles and holds them over her own eyes. She looks ridiculous, but I don’t laugh. I can’t breathe deeply enough to do so.

Having her here feels like I’m baring my soul to her. No one else has ever come here—besides Titan. This is my last stronghold.

“There aren’t any windows…” she whispers. “Or doors?”

I clear my throat. “After what happened with my aunt… I couldn’t sleep because I thought someone else would come for me if I did. Cirio suggested I build a place in my ship where no one else could go…” I wave a hand around, aimlessly. “Here we are.”

She nods. “I understand.”

Some people would say that just to be empathetic, but Nilsa means it. Both of us have grown up in the shadow of childhood trauma, shaped by fear in a way that a lot of people can’t ever comprehend. The difference is that our brave witch is facing her fear on a daily basis, trying to conquer the demons that live in her past with every swimming lesson the twins and Klaus give her.

I haven’t tried to battle my fears. I’ve shut them out. Lined the walls of this tiny, sad little room with glyphs until I felt safe. But I’m not going to do that anymore.

She’s conquering her fears; how can I do any less?

“I want to add one,” I say, surprising her again. “I can’t figure out where to put it, but I’m sure a nosy witch like you has some ideas.”

Nilsa smiles; a soft, kind expression I never thought she’d grace me with. “I think you should start with a little porthole,” she murmurs. “One you can cover with a deadlight, and it should go…” Nilsa chews as her lip and spins on the spot as she deliberates. “Just over there.” She points at the wall opposite my bed, between two shelves crammed full of clutter. “A door can come later.”

My nod is jerkier than I mean for it to be, but I pretend she doesn’t notice as I lift my hand and focus on the spot she indicated. Seconds later, there’s a brass framed porthole, with a wooden cover that I can lock in place. The empty gun-deck beyond isn’t a particularly interesting view, but it’s still enough to set my heart racing and my nerves on edge.

I’m sweating. I just can’t stop staring at the tiny glass window.

Until she’s there, in my face, cutting off the view with her body. “You can get rid of it, if you want to.”

I shake my head. “And lose the ability to keep an eye on my long guns? No way.”

She raises an eyebrow, silently calling me on my bullshit, before returning to her perusal of my cabin.

Dismissed, just like that.

I’m silently grateful for it. The lull in conversation gives me a moment to work up the guts to speak again, and I drag my hand through my hair as I follow her progress around the room. She’s touching everything she can, investigating all of my projects, even my failures, as if they’re secret treasures.

C’mon, Val, buck up and say it.

“I need to say something,” I finally admit, the words bursting free.

She turns to me. “You just did.”

I snort.Brat. “Whatever happened to graciously accepting an apology?”

She sniffs and shrugs one delicate shoulder. “I haven’t heard it yet, so how can I?”

Goddess, why the fuck can’t she just sit there and listen for once? Maybe this is a mistake. “You know what? Forget it.”

Nilsa abandons the tiny mechanical watch I’ve been trying to enchant to speak the time for Nos and crosses the room to me. She grabs my shirt in both hands and pushes me onto the bed before letting go and leaning back against the heart. The new position makes her taller, giving her the advantage.

“I want to know what you were going to say,” she admits.

I take a deep breath and let my power snake out to the ropes crisscrossing the beams above us. Nilsa hasn’t noticed them yet, so she squeaks in surprise when they drop down and hook behind her shoulders, pulling her closer to me until she’s almost in my lap.

Her proximity is like a drug, soothing my irritation until it disappears. “I’ve resisted being your mate at every turn, and I’ve been an asshole in the process.” She gives a small nod, but wisely says nothing. “I… regret how I was. That’s not to say I’m going to be all sunshine and roses and shit, but—fuck.” I’m getting this wrong.

“How about we stick with a regular fuck first?” she asks. “Anal is a bit advanced for a man coming off a couple of centuries of biologically enforced celibacy.”