Reclamation, page 16
Malek laughed again—delighted and cruel. “Oh, she knows. She’s known the whole time.” He tilted his head. “Sweet little Everly. So modest, so devout. But did she ever tell you who she really is? A liar, just like her sister.”
I swallowed hard, my voice trapped behind the storm in my chest.
Malek pressed on. “She was promised to an archangel, Walton. To him. Michael. The blade. The first. Heaven’s perfect warrior.” His grin widened. “She was meant to be his queen.”
Walton’s face didn’t move—but I saw it. The flicker. The betrayal, sharp and sudden, like a blade unsheathed in the dark.
“Everly,” he said, and my name sounded different—heavier.
“I—I was going to tell you,” I whispered.
Malek chuckled low and deep. “But you didn’t.”
I stepped toward Walton. “I didn’t know how. I didn’t want it to matter. I didn’t want him. I never did.”
His eyes locked with mine—stormy and uncertain.
Malek basked in the silence, spreading his arms like a showman. “There it is. The final piece, Brimstone. She’s not just a girl. She’s a key. You could end this. Deliver her, and your deal is done.”
I looked at Walton then, willing him to hear me over the pounding of blood in my ears.
“D,” I said, softly, firmly. “I’m not his. I never was.”
Walton didn’t look at me. He turned back to Malek, his shoulders stiff, fists clenched at his sides. The space between us was small, but it felt like a canyon suddenly yawned open—wide, deep, and cold.
“Let him go,” Walton said, voice like gravel dragged across steel.
Malek blinked, slow and amused. “So you’re keeping her?” His grin curled like smoke. “You goddamn fool. They all lie.”
I flinched.
The word keeping sounded filthy in his mouth—like I was an object, not a person. But Walton didn’t flinch. He just stood there, rigid, unmoved.
Malek started to pace again, dragging the moment out like he was savoring it. “You know what she is now. Heaven’s little bride, wrapped in prophecy and virtue—and you think you can hold onto her like she’s yours.” His voice dropped lower. “Do you really think Michael will just let her go? That the angels won’t come for what’s theirs? Or hell, maybe even the pit? Half the Forsaken would sell their souls just to taste her blood.”
Walton’s silence was loud. His fury didn’t come in shouts or snarls. It was in the tight line of his jaw. The pulse ticking in his throat. The way his fingers twitched once, as if fighting back the urge to draw his blade.
Malek tilted his head. “She’s not just your sugar, D. She’s a ticking time bomb.”
“I said,” Walton growled, low and final, “let. him. go."
The demon’s grin faltered for a heartbeat—just a flicker—but then he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Very well,” he drawled. “But remember this, Stalker—when the flames come for her, it won’t be me you’re fighting. It’ll be everyone.” He turned his attention to me then, eyes glinting like hot coals. “And you, angel girl? You better start praying someone up there still cares about you. Because down here…” He chuckled, wicked and full of teeth. “We all do.”
And then he vanished into shadow.
Walton didn’t move.
Neither did I.
But I could feel it building in him—rage, confusion, grief. He stood like a statue, staring at the place where Malek had been, and I realized he hadn’t unclenched his fists.
He still hadn’t looked at me.
And that hurt more than anything Malek could’ve said.
Chapter 18
Walton
The moment I cut the rope, the kid dropped into my arms like dead weight—too light, too still. He didn’t cry out. Didn’t even flinch. Just slumped against my chest, breath shallow, wrists raw and red where the bindings had bitten deep.
Toby.
He was lucky to be alive.
Everly was already there, quick and quiet, reaching to steady him as I lowered him to the ground. Her hands trembled only a little—gentle and sure in ways mine would never be. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t need to. Her whole focus was on the boy, like I wasn’t even there.
“You’re okay now,” she murmured, her voice soft enough it barely touched the air. I watched her hand brush his hair back from his filthy, sweat-drenched forehead.
I crouched beside them, checked his pulse—weak, but present. The bruises on his ribs, the crusted blood on his shirt, the cuts across his cheek… all of it painted a picture I didn’t want to stare at too long. I’ve seen kids like this before—before they broke. Before someone made them forget who they were.
My eyes didn’t linger. They went back to the trees.
The clearing had gone too quiet. The birds didn’t sing. The wind didn’t move. Not even the leaves whispered anymore.
Malek had vanished into the woods like he was never there—like the whole thing was a goddamn dream we hadn’t woken from yet. But I knew better. Demons didn’t disappear for no reason. They stalk.
“He wanted us to walk away,” I muttered, my voice low and rough, more to myself than her.
I felt Everly’s gaze flick up to me, but I didn’t meet it. I didn’t want to see what was in her eyes. Pity. Guilt. Or worse—confusion. After what Malek said, after what she didn’t say… I couldn’t look at her right now without something inside me wanting to split open.
“Walton?”
Her voice cracked a little, the way it always did when she was trying to keep it steady.
“Just stay close,” I snapped—sharper than I meant to—but I didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. My jaw locked tight as I swept the clearing one last time. Still nothing. Still too quiet.
Toby stirred in her arms, his face twitching as if waking from a nightmare he wasn’t ready to leave. When he looked up and saw me, his body stiffened slightly. I knew what he saw: the coat, the blood on my hands, the fire in my eyes. I didn’t blame him for flinching.
But Everly didn’t hesitate.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, cradling his head with the kind of care I didn’t think existed anymore. “You’re safe now.”
I wanted to believe her.
But Malek’s laugh still echoed in my skull.
I walked ahead of her. The air was thick—choking with silence and truths that had no business hiding in her mouth. Every step ground heavier than the last, each one dragging me deeper into my own damn head. The forest stretched around us, gnarled and unkind, but it wasn’t the shadows that unsettled me.
It was Everly.
It was what she hadn’t said.
I could hear her behind me—soft footfalls, breath steady. It should’ve been a comfort, knowing she was close. It used to be. But now it pressed on my spine like a blade. My jaw locked tight as I stared ahead, too afraid I’d see something in her eyes I wasn’t ready for—guilt, pity… distance.
She knew.
Malek had said enough to paint the picture, and she hadn’t denied it. Hadn’t offered a single word to pull me back from the edge I’d been standing on ever since we left that goddamn clearing.
Michael’s bride.
I nearly stopped walking just thinking it.
What the hell did that make me, then? The interim? A wayward stop before she went back to her divine destiny? My chest clenched, fire and frost battling in my veins. I didn’t want to be a stepping stone to someone else’s god-touched path. I didn’t want to be a chapter in her story. I wanted to be the whole damn book.
And maybe that was what scared me most.
Malek knew. That bastard had seen it before I had—saw what she was, saw what I was, and laughed because he knew how it ended.
She didn’t lie. But she sure as hell didn’t tell me either.
My fists clenched at my sides, itching for something to bleed. The last time I felt this off balance, I was carving tallies into my arm to keep track of the dead. And now I couldn’t even bring myself to look at her. Because if I did… if I saw regret in her eyes, or worse, acceptance, I might unravel right there on the forest floor.
She was supposed to be mine.
And maybe that wasn’t fair—maybe it wasn’t even true—but hell if it didn’t feel that way every time she reached for me like I was the only safe thing left in this broken world.
Behind me, the leaves crunched under her boots.
I didn’t slow down.
Didn’t speak.
Because if I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure whether I’d demand the truth or beg her not to give it.
The woods were breathing again.
Not in any natural way. The trees pressed close, leaning in like they were listening, like they knew something I didn’t. Shadows clung to the edges of the trail like old ghosts—familiar, restless. I didn’t trust any of it.
Malek was gone, but that didn’t mean we were safe.
I scanned the treeline for the fifth time in as many minutes. The canopy overhead swayed in slow motion, branches creaking like bones in wind. I half-expected to see something step out from between the trunks, grinning with teeth too long and eyes too bright.
Nothing. Just that emptiness that wasn’t really empty.
Everly moved beside me, Toby’s weight slung between her arms. The kid was breathing, barely conscious, but it was enough. She held him like she could protect him from all this—like that kind of goodness still counted for something in a world like ours. I wasn’t so sure it did.
She said nothing, just adjusted her grip on the boy and kept moving.
Silence prowled a few yards ahead, tail stiff, muscles twitching like she could feel it too—the wrongness slithering through these trees.
“Scout,” I ordered.
She didn’t hesitate. Darted off into the brush like smoke through a crack, swallowed whole by the gloom. I missed her the second she vanished. That damn beast was the only thing in this world I trusted completely, and sending her off didn’t sit right. But I had to know what lay ahead. Couldn’t afford another ambush—not with them behind me.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Everly’s voice was soft, hesitant.
I clenched my teeth. I didn’t want to snap at her, not when she was carrying a half-dead kid through hell, but I was stretched thin and fraying fast.
“She’s better than okay,” I said, too tight. “She knows these woods better than anything else breathing.”
But even as the words left me, my gut twisted. Malek hadn’t stuck around to fight. A demon like that didn’t back down unless he was playing a longer game.
Especially Malek.
Especially when it was me.
And we were still walking through the board.
Every rustle in the brush felt like a knife to the ribs. Every gust of wind sent prickles up the back of my neck. Something was watching us. I was sure of it.
Everly shifted beside me again, and her voice cut through the tension. “D?”
“Yeah?”
She hesitated. I could feel it.
“Just say it.”
“What if he comes back?” she whispered. “What if Malek finds us again?”
I stopped walking.
The forest exhaled around us.
I turned to her slowly. She was trying to be brave—I could see it in the way she held her chin up, like the weight of fear wasn’t pressing down on her just as hard. But her eyes told the truth. She was scared. Not for herself. For Toby. For me.
For us.
I didn’t know what to say. Not really. But I reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder—gentle, grounding.
“If he comes back,” I said, voice low and sure, “I’ll be ready for him.”
And God help him if he tried to take anything else from me.
We broke through the trees just as the sky started to bleed light. Dawn crept across the horizon slow and quiet—muted grays giving way to pale orange and soft pink, like the world wasn’t sure it was ready to wake up yet. I wasn’t sure I was either.
The cool air hit my skin, sharp and clean, but it didn’t do a damn thing for the weight knotted in my chest.
Behind me, Everly had one of Toby’s arms slung over her shoulder, helping him limp through the last stretch of woods. He was mostly conscious, his boots dragging a little, his breath uneven. Kid—no, young man—was all bruises and blood, with too many shadows under his eyes for someone who hadn’t seen twenty winters yet. Still, he was upright, and that was more than I’d expected when we found him strung up like bait.
I didn’t look back much. Everly had him. She was solid like that—quiet and unshaken, the way she moved with him, steady as stone. Made my gut twist in a way I didn’t want to name.
Gravedirt Hollow came into view like a bruise on the horizon. The town stirred slow, reluctant, its buildings hunched and lopsided, barely holding themselves together. Smoke drifted from chimneys, thick and greasy, carrying the scent of charred meat and old wood. And underneath it all, the faint rot that clung to places that had seen more death than life.
“Just up ahead,” I muttered, nodding to the squat house tucked between two sheds that looked ready to collapse. The porch sagged, shingles missing like teeth. Still, it had lights in the window, and it was more shelter than we’d had in days.
Everly glanced my way and gave a small nod before pushing through the busted gate, helping Toby up the path. I stayed close behind, hand on the hilt of my blade, eyes tracking every inch of shadow that dared move wrong.
Before we even reached the steps, the door creaked open. The old couple stood there—eyes wide, relief blooming slow on their lined faces. The woman pressed a hand to her mouth, and the man stepped forward, jaw tight with fear and hope tangled together.
“Thank God,” the woman whispered, voice trembling.
“Is he all right?” the man asked, already moving to help take Toby’s weight.
“He’s hurt,” Everly said gently. “But he’s alive.”
She helped guide him forward like she’d done it a thousand times. Like it was second nature. I watched her, quiet, letting her handle the talking. That was her strength. Mine was making sure nobody came out of the woods behind us.
While she explained what happened, I stood there, jaw tight, scanning the tree line.
Malek had left for a reason.
And I’d be damned if I let that reason circle back around without seeing it coming.
I stood off to the side, arms crossed tight against my chest, while Everly was swept into the old couple’s embrace like a long-lost daughter. The woman clung to her with quiet desperation, tears soaking into Everly’s shoulder as she murmured thank-yous over and over again like a prayer. It was the kind of gratitude that came from fear turned to relief.
Everly held her gently, not flinching at the tears or the trembling hands. She stood there like a beacon in all this wreckage—solid and soft, someone to hold onto when the world threatened to fall apart. And just for a second, watching her like that, I felt… distant. Like I was standing on the edge of something warm and good but not allowed to step inside.
“Thank you,” the old woman whispered again, her voice raw. She pulled back just enough to look Everly in the eye. “For bringing him back to us.”
Everly offered one of those soft smiles—quiet, humble, nothing showy. She looked tired, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the emotion, but she didn’t falter. “Of course,” she said gently, voice steady despite all the hell we’d just crawled through.
I shifted on my feet, boots crunching against the grit underfoot. Their eyes found me eventually—just a flicker, like a shadow caught in the corner of a room. And there it was: recognition. The kind that turned wonder into wariness.
I knew what they saw. I’d seen it too many times to be surprised. The dark coat, the scars, the presence that made people step a little to the side without realizing why.
The Brimstone Stalker. One of Satan’s own.
“Let’s get him inside,” I said, voice low but firm enough to snap them out of it.
The old man nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to move. He gestured to the stairs beside the house, where the overhang led to a creaking door above the garage. “There’s a room upstairs,” he said. “Not much, but it’s dry. Safe.”
Everly thanked him before I could say a word, her voice laced with genuine gratitude. I let her do the talking. She fit here better than I ever would—light in a place still trying to remember what daylight felt like.
“And if you’re hungry,” the woman added, softer this time, casting another cautious glance my way, “we can make something warm.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t say thank you. Just gave a short nod, and a clipped, “Sure.”
The old woman led us up the narrow staircase just off the side of the garage, the wood creaking beneath our steps like it hadn’t been used in years. She moved slowly, lantern in hand, casting flickering light over weather-worn siding and chipped paint. The second-floor door opened with a low groan, and I stepped in first, out of habit more than anything—always checking.
The room was small. Dusty. But not unkind.
One window overlooked the patchy field behind the house, the curtains thin and sun-bleached, barely clinging to the rod. A battered dresser stood in the corner, its top cluttered with knickknacks from another lifetime—an old brush, a rusted key, a cracked ceramic angel whose wings had long since broken off. The ceiling slanted low on one side, the wood beams exposed and dark with age. It smelled faintly of cedar and old quilts.
And there, against the far wall, sat one bed.
Just one.
The mattress wasn’t much, just a sagging thing covered in a faded patchwork blanket that looked handmade. It creaked when I pressed a hand to it, but it held. The kind of bed that had seen decades of use, maybe love. Maybe grief. It was soft enough. And it was safe.
The old woman lingered in the doorway for a second, her voice cutting into the quiet. “Supper’ll be done soon. I’ll call you down when it’s ready.”
Everly gave her a warm, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
