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The business in Ketterdam was finished. The blueprints for the new Fabrikator-designed Ravkan long-rifles were safely stowed, and Jesper and his husband, Wylan, were already seeing the privateer and his wife to the door of the Van Eck mansion.
Jesper leaned against the doorframe, spinning a gold coin over his knuckles. He liked this Sturmhond character—he had a sharp tongue and a quick mind—but there was something about the way he and Lena moved together that felt a bit too settled for a couple of wandering sailors.
“Safe travels back to the sea, or wherever it is you’re heading,” Jesper called out. “I assume you’ve got a crew waiting to get you home?”
“A crew and a very impatient pair of toddlers,” Sturmhond said, pausing to check his fancy pocket watch. He leaned into Lena, his gloved arm—he never once took it off, Jesper wondered why—sliding naturally around her waist. “Two of our little bombs. If we aren’t back by Tuesday, they’ll have likely staged a coup and burned our house.”
Jesper’s hand froze mid-spin. He looked at Sturmhond, then at Lena. They both looked vibrant and sharp, but, most notably, exceptionally young. Even with their matching red-tailored hair and the rugged teal sailor clothes, they didn’t look like they’d spent years building a family. They looked like they’d barely started.
“Two?” Jesper raised a skeptical brow, his eyes darting between them. “And this lovely young lady is the mother of both?”
“The one and only,” Sturmhond beamed, pressing a proud, proprietary kiss to Lena’s temple. “I don’t believe in half-measures, Fahey. When I set my sights on something, I tend to get results rather quickly.”
Lena swatted his chest, rolling her eyes though she was exasperatedly smiling. “We really must go, Sturmhond. The ‘results’ will be crying for bedtime stories.”
Jesper watched them walk down the marble steps hand-in-hand. They, but especially the man, radiated the kind of effortless confidence that only came from someone who knew he’d won the game—or at least content at the ending of their story.
Jesper holstered his revolvers. A slow, appreciative grin spread across his face. He’d always prided himself on being the fastest, most accurate shooter in the Barrel. Hell, he could hit a coin in the air before it blinked. But looking at the privateer and his wife, he realized he’d met his match in a different kind of ballistics.
Jesper always thought himself an accurate shooter. Until he met this Sturmhond lad and his wife Lena, with two kids for a seemingly young couple.
Damn, Jesper thought, shaking his head in amusement. Guess Sturmhond is also an accurate shooter.