Reclamation, page 17
The woman nodded, her eyes scanning the room like she hoped it would be enough. Then she pulled the door gently shut behind her, leaving us alone in that quiet little space—with the single bed, the silence, and everything we weren’t ready to say.
I didn’t look at Everly right away.
Because I still wasn’t sure what kind of night this was going to be.
Chapter 19
Everly
Walton sat at the table near the window, the fading light painting sharp angles across his face. His attention was fixed on the blade in his hand, the whetstone gliding down its edge with slow, deliberate precision. Over and over. Like if he stopped, something inside him might snap.
I sat on the bed with my hands clenched in my lap, my voice barely more than a breath. “Walton… I want to talk about it.”
The scraping continued.
My heart thudded against my ribs. “About Michael.”
His grip on the knife didn’t falter, but something in his jaw did. It ticked, just once, before going still again.
I tried to smile, soft and hopeful. “You’ve barely said ten words to me since we got back. I think we should—”
“Don’t,” he muttered, not looking at me.
I blinked. “Don’t what?”
He set the blade down with more force than needed. Still didn’t meet my eyes.
“Don’t act like everything’s fine.”
I stood, nervous energy rising like a tide. “I’m not. That’s why I’m trying to talk to you.”
“You’re trying to explain,” he said, voice quiet but sharp as the steel he was tending. “Not the same thing.”
I crossed my arms, trying to stay grounded, even as the floor felt like it was tilting beneath me. “Okay. Then let me explain. Please.”
“You were promised to an archangel, Everly.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it hit harder than a shout. He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the weapon in his hand like it might make more sense than I did. “Do you know what that makes you in this war?”
I had never heard him speak like that before—not loud, not yelling, but something colder. Sharper. Like a blade sliding slow between my ribs.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Walton finally turned his eyes on me—and I almost wished he hadn’t. They burned, not with heat, but with the slow, smoldering kind of rage that comes from betrayal. Or maybe just heartbreak.
“Do you?” he pressed, stepping closer. “Because I sure as hell didn’t.”
His words sank deep, lodging in places I didn’t know were still soft. “Walton…” I said his name like a plea, but I didn’t even know what I was begging for.
He shook his head, jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack. “You think I would’ve brought you into all this—dragged you through the dirt, through fire and blood—if I’d known you were meant to marry one of them?”
I staggered back a step, stunned by the venom in his voice. It wasn’t just anger. It was hurt. Disbelief. Like the foundation we’d been building had just crumbled under his feet.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I said, the words tumbling out in a breath that trembled. “I didn’t want it. I never wanted Michael. I didn’t even know what I was.”
“But now you do.” His tone cut again, quiet and bitter. “And you didn’t tell me.”
I blinked, my throat tight, vision blurring at the edges. “I chose you, Walton.”
He flinched—just barely. But I saw it.
I reached for him without thinking, desperate to anchor us to anything that might still be true. “I still choose you.”
He looked down at my hand like it was a snake coiled around his wrist. And then he turned away.
I couldn’t breathe.
“You didn’t choose me,” Walton said, voice flat. “You settled for me after the holy ones didn’t come looking.”
The words struck like a slap across the face. I actually swayed where I stood. It wasn’t just the cruelty—it was the cold certainty in his voice, like he truly believed it. Like everything we’d survived meant nothing.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. Again. My throat was tight. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
He turned away like he couldn’t even stand to look at me.
“I didn’t…” I managed finally, voice cracking. “It wasn’t like that.”
He said nothing.
So I kept talking, even though my chest felt hollow and raw. “Elise was promised. Elise.” I bit down hard on the tears burning behind my eyes. “But after she was taken, everything shifted. Michael never even spoke to me. He just… claimed me. Like I was a replacement. Like I didn’t get a say.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “And now? I doubt he even wants me. I’m sure he’s already moved on.”
Walton scoffed behind me, bitter and mean. “Malek doesn’t seem to think so.”
I turned to look at him then, because I had to. I had to see if there was anything left of the man who held me like I was his home just one night ago.
“You’re not being fair,” I whispered.
He didn’t meet my eyes.
And that hurt worst of all.
The silence had teeth.
Walton hadn’t looked at me in what felt like hours. He was hunched over the table, sharpening one of his blades with slow, deliberate strokes.
I stood there, hands wrung together, stomach knotted with everything I hadn’t said yet.
“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” I said softly, barely above the whisper of the wind outside. “I didn’t know how to tell you. About Michael. About what I was supposed to be.”
He didn’t answer.
“Please,” I said, voice tightening. “Can you at least look at me?”
The blade stopped moving.
And then his voice came—low, not loud, but sharp enough to split me right down the center.
“You think I care about who you were supposed to be?” he muttered. “What cuts is you let me believe I was anything but second best.”
I blinked. “That’s not what I—”
“You think I don’t see it?” His voice rose, rough and ragged now. “Some girl too holy for the angels, so she turns to the devil instead. Tell me, Everly—how does it feel, loving the last man on earth who should’ve touched you?”
My mouth opened. Closed.
I couldn’t breathe.
It shattered something in me, those words. Not just because they were cruel—but because they came from him.
From Walton.
“You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel safe,” I blurted, voice raw, cracking around the edges like glass too close to shatter. “Not Michael. Not the bunker. You.”
Walton didn’t move—just sat there sharpening that blade like it meant more than my words. Like it was easier to face steel than me.
“You’ve taught me how to survive. You’ve saved me more times than I can count. I love you.”
His hands stilled.
But he didn’t look up.
“Don’t say stupid shit,” he muttered, almost too quiet.
My heart clenched. “My feelings aren’t stupid.”
He slammed the knife down, the sound ringing through the small room like a gunshot. “Your feelings aren’t,” he snapped. “You are. You’re stupid.”
I took a step back, breath catching hard in my throat.
“I’m a demon,” he growled. “What don’t you get about that?”
“I know what you are,” I said, my voice trembling, but steady beneath it all. “And I love you.”
He stared at me—truly looked, like he was trying to burn the words out of me with his eyes.
And then he turned away.
Silent. Seething. Wounded.
“I trust you,” I whispered, voice trembling. “I love you.”
He flinched—just slightly—but didn’t apologize.
"You're a fucking little girl living in your world," he snapped.
“And you keep pretending you're this monster when I know you're not,” I snapped, the pain rising like a scream. “And maybe you are. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be.”
He stilled.
Completely.
Blade still in hand, he stood up slowly. And in that moment, I knew I’d lost him.
Without a word, he turned, grabbed his coat from the chair, slung his weapons over his shoulder, and walked to the door.
“Walton—”
But the wind swallowed my voice as he opened it.
The storm had started. Rain lashed sideways across the drive, thunder curling in the distance like a warning.
He didn’t look back.
The door slammed shut behind him.
And I was alone.
The door slammed like a gunshot.
And then—
Silence.
The kind that pressed against my skin and seeped into my lungs, thick and suffocating.
I stood in the center of the room, shaking. The storm howled outside, wind rattling the windows like fists against glass, but it couldn’t touch the stillness that had settled inside me.
He was gone.
And I didn’t know if he was coming back.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep the pieces from falling apart. My heart pounded against my ribs, too loud, too fast, as if trying to escape the cage of my chest. My throat burned from words I hadn’t meant to scream. My ears still rang with his—cruel and final.
I’d never fought like that. Not with Elise. Not with anyone.
And it gutted me.
I moved on autopilot, brushing past the weapons he’d left behind. I picked up his duster from where it had fallen off the back of the chair—still warm—and folded it carefully. My fingers trembled over the fabric.
Stupid. Stupid to hope.
I curled up on the edge of the narrow bed, knees drawn to my chest, wrapping myself in a thin blanket that smelled like dust and old smoke. I stared at the door—watched the handle like it might turn, like he might walk back in and say it didn’t matter, that he was just scared.
But it didn’t move.
The storm outside roared louder, wind screaming through the cracks in the window, but inside, it was just me.
Alone.
I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. The tears felt stuck somewhere too deep for me to reach.
So I stayed like that, body curled tight as a question mark, eyes wide open in the dark.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Guilt sat heavy in my chest like a stone sinking through water, dragging everything inside me down with it.
I didn’t move from the bed. Couldn’t. The blanket twisted around my legs like chains I didn’t remember letting wrap around me. My hands clenched the fabric, knuckles pale in the half-light.
I hadn’t meant to say those things. Not like that. I just wanted him to see me—really see me. But instead… instead we burned the whole room down with words sharp enough to scar.
This was harder than I expected.
Loving someone like Walton wasn’t soft or simple. It was like holding fire—beautiful, but it left a mark.
I took a breath. Then another.
He should’ve been understanding. Right? He hadn’t told me about his plan to turn Elise in, and I forgave him. We moved past it. We built something out of the ashes of that betrayal.
So shouldn’t he…
Is that why you forgave him? the voice in my head whispered, quiet but merciless. Because you expected him to do the same for you?
“No,” I murmured aloud, voice cracking under the weight of it. “Of course not.”
Then it doesn’t matter, the voice said. You don’t love him just to be loved in return. You love him because you do.
I swallowed back the tight knot forming in my throat and slipped off the edge of the bed, the wooden floor cold beneath my knees as I sank down and folded my hands in front of me.
The words didn’t come right away. I sat there for a long time, staring at the floor, my breath shaky and uneven.
But eventually, I closed my eyes and whispered, “God… please give me patience. I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to. I want to be steady, even when it hurts. I want to be kind, even when I’m afraid.”
I opened my eyes again, tears threatening but still held at bay. My hands trembled, but my heart… it felt just a little bit lighter.
“Help me wait,” I whispered. “Help me understand.”
Because no matter what happened next—whether Walton walked through that door or didn’t—I didn’t want to stop believing in him.
Or in us.
A soft knock tapped against the door like a heartbeat. I startled, wiping quickly at my cheeks with the sleeve of my blouse.
“Sweetheart?” the old woman called gently through the wood. “Supper’s ready. Thought I’d come get you myself.”
I stood, legs stiff from kneeling too long, and crossed the room. I pulled open the door with a small smile that I hoped looked steadier than I felt. “I’ll be down in just a minute, ma’am.”
Her eyes were kind and knowing as they skimmed over my face, the red rimming my eyes, the faint tremble I couldn’t quite hide. But she didn’t press. Just gave a nod and a soft, “Take your time, dear,” before shuffling back down the narrow steps.
I closed the door gently behind her, took a breath, then another. One more swipe across my cheeks. One more deep breath to keep the hope from cracking.
Then I headed down.
The stairs creaked beneath my feet, old wood echoing memories that didn’t belong to me. When I reached the bottom, the warm scent of roasted meat and herbs hit me like a soft embrace. My stomach growled in spite of everything.
The dining room was small but welcoming. A square table sat in the center, laid out with simple mismatched dishes and a steaming platter of something rich and savory. A lace tablecloth, patched in places but clean and carefully pressed, covered the surface. The walls were yellowed from time and oil lamps, and a faded cross hung above the mantel beside an old photograph of a family long changed by years and war.
Toby was already seated, hunched over a bowl, eyes hollow but more present than before. The old man gave him a gentle pat on the back as he filled his plate. The woman stood at the stove, humming softly as she ladled stew into a second bowl.
And Walton wasn’t there.
The empty seat across from Toby made something sink inside me.
But I smiled anyway. Brighter this time. I tucked the ache somewhere behind my ribs and walked into the room like nothing in me was fraying at the seams.
“Smells amazing,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t waver.
The old woman turned with a smile of her own. “Made enough for him too. In case he gets hungry.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to answer. Just took the seat they’d saved for me, folding my hands in my lap before picking up the spoon.
If Walton walked through that door, he’d see me waiting.
But if he didn’t… I would eat. I would breathe. I would be kind.
Even if it hurt.
Chapter 20
Walton
The amber dusk clung to me like smoke, soft around the edges but no comfort to speak of. I stood near the edge of the yard, back to the garage, a cigarette smoldering between my fingers. The lighter clicked shut with a snap that echoed louder than it should have. Silence lay stretched out near the fence, her black coat blending with the oncoming dark. Still as death, but her eyes never stopped scanning. She always knew before I did when something was coming.
I paced. Small circles. My boots sank into the soft earth with every turn. The nicotine kept my hands from shaking, but it didn’t do a damn thing about the rest of me.
She said she loves me.
The words played over and over again, like the scratch of a broken record dragging claws through my head. I didn’t know what to do with them. They were too soft, too bright for the kind of man I was. A man like me didn’t get loved. He got used. Feared. Hunted. And when he’s done, buried.
But not Everly.
She didn’t look at me like that.
She looked at me like I was worth saving.
And that scared the hell out of me.
I took a long drag, exhaled slow, watched the smoke curl toward the dying sun. Silence flicked her ears at the sound. She didn’t move. She was waiting—just like me.
Why’d Malek walk away?
That part gnawed at me too. Demons didn’t let go. They didn’t pass up blood unless they were working on something worse. He’d had Toby. He could’ve ripped that boy’s soul clean out if he wanted it. He didn’t.
No, he wanted her.
I ground the cigarette out against the heel of my boot, mouth tight.
And then, because I couldn’t help it, I muttered to the night, low and bitter, “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
It wasn’t a prayer—not exactly. I didn’t even know who I was talking to. But I looked up anyway, like maybe someone was listening. Some part of me still hoped there was more to this than blood and fire and broken promises.
“You want me to be good?” I asked quietly, to the moon or the dirt or whatever might care. “You want me to protect her, love her, lead her outta hell? Fine. But I don’t know how to do that if she won’t trust me.”
No answer. Just the hush of crickets and the whisper of wind in the grass.
I stared at the house.
The warm yellow glow from the window flickered. I saw her silhouette inside. Laughing. Talking. Toby watching her like she’d hung the moon.
And my stomach turned.
I leaned against the splintered post outside the garage, arms crossed, letting the cold air bite at my skin while the warmth inside drifted through the thin walls. Her laugh—light and bright—cut straight through me. Should’ve been a comfort. Should’ve brought some peace. But all it did was pour salt in a wound I hadn’t been able to stitch shut since the moment she looked at me and said she loved me.
Goddamn fool girl.
That voice of hers was like honey over barbed wire. Sweet, sure—but wrapped around something that could tear a man open if he wasn’t careful.
