Reclamation, page 25
I stopped walking.
Full stop.
She did too, like the air shifted and we both felt it at once. My blood wasn’t just warm now—it was fire under my skin.
I met her gaze, voice dropping low. “Don’t ask me that,” I said slowly, “unless you want me to show you.”
I meant it.
Right here, right now, dirt be damned.
Her cheeks flushed, color blooming down her neck, but her eyes didn’t waver. Green and glowing, daring me. Begging for the next move.
Then she said it—soft, sultry, and dangerous as sin. “What if I do want you to show me?”
And just like that, the heat between us wasn’t playful anymore. It was real. Heavy. Ready to snap.
I stepped forward, slow. Measured.
“Careful, angel,” I murmured, my voice a rasp, “’cause if I start, I ain’t stoppin’.”
I stepped forward, slow but certain, until there wasn’t much space left between us—barely inches. Close enough to feel her breath ghost over my skin, warm and teasing. Close enough that my restraint felt like it was being tested on every damn level.
“You’re playin’ with fire,” I murmured, voice low and rough like the gravel under our boots.
She didn’t flinch. Hell, she leaned into it. Eyes sharp, smile wicked. “I like fire.”
Of course she did.
The look she gave me—it lit every nerve in my body like dry kindling. She wasn’t just flirting. She was daring me. Daring me to close the distance, to let go of the grip I had on myself, to give in and burn with her.
And God help me, I wanted to.
But I knew what came with giving in. I knew how fast this world could rip good things away. And I’d be damned if I gave her a taste of something I couldn’t protect.
I inhaled deep, jaw clenched so tight it ached, and took a step back.
A small one. Just enough to pull air between us. Just enough to breathe without reaching for her again.
“We should focus on gettin’ to that whorehouse,” I said, my voice too tight, too controlled. “We lose our heads now, it could cost us more than we’re ready to pay.”
Her expression didn’t soften. If anything, it got bolder. She stepped forward like I hadn’t just pulled away, like she didn’t care what ghosts haunted the edges of my resolve.
“But…”
That word—so soft, so damn tempting—it curled around me like smoke.
I caught her gaze again, locked eyes with her, and said her name like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
“Everly.”
One word. One warning. One plea.
There was heat in our banter, sure—but beneath it? There was need. A quiet ache neither of us could name. Something raw and aching that didn’t belong to this broken world. Something that scared the hell out of me because it felt too real. Too good.
We were joking on the edge of something dangerous. And we both knew it.
Didn’t matter how much I wanted to grab her, pull her in, get lost in the fire she carried in her blood. The wasteland wasn’t a place that allowed indulgence. It punished softness. Turned tenderness into weakness. And weakness got you killed.
Still… her gaze lingered. Bold. Hungry.
And I knew the moment we did give in—there wouldn’t be no turning back.
Not for me.
Not ever.
“Fine,” she muttered, rolling her eyes like I was the one being unreasonable.
“Insatiable chit,” I said under my breath, not meaning to let it slip out loud—but there it was.
She shot me a look over her shoulder, that damn smile curving on her lips. “Your fault.”
I huffed a laugh, low and grudging, because she wasn’t wrong. That teasing grin, that fire in her voice—it wasn’t something I’d earned. Not really. But hell if it didn’t make something in my chest crack open every time.
“I miss when you were scared of me,” I tossed back, smirk tugging despite myself.
Everly laughed, bright and full, the sound bouncing off the dead stone around us like it didn’t know the world was ash and bone. Just for a second, it made everything feel… lighter. Like maybe we weren’t just walking ghosts in a graveyard of what used to be.
We kept moving, side by side. Our boots crunched over gravel and broken ground, a rhythm I’d come to find comfort in. The silence out here used to bother me. Now it just made her voice stand out clearer.
I passed her the canteen without thinking. Just muscle memory at this point—me watching her back, making sure she had what she needed. She took a sip, and I watched the line of her throat move, the way she tipped her head back, careless and alive. Something stirred in me, low and slow.
“Are we going to keep walking forever?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Depends how well you keep up,” I said, flashing her a grin.
She huffed. “Please. I could outrun you blindfolded.”
“Sure you could,” I muttered, then picked up the pace just to be a bastard.
She called me something under her breath—I didn’t catch it, but it made me grin wider.
The sun started dipping low, throwing long shadows across the wasteland, stretching everything thin and golden. That’s when I spotted it—a shallow cave tucked into a wall of crumbling rock, half-covered in vines that swayed in the wind like they hadn’t noticed the world had ended.
“This’ll do,” I said, scanning the area with trained eyes. High ground. One entrance. Dry. “We’ll rest here.”
She nodded, already moving, already picking up twigs and leaves like she wasn’t tired. Like she hadn’t walked half the day on aching feet. I watched her crouch near the mouth of the cave, striking flint against rock with focused precision.
And I didn’t know why, but it hit me then.
The sight of her like that—fierce, competent, alive—made something tight in my chest pull taut. Not lust. Not need. Just… pride. A deep, quiet kind. The kind that made you realize you were walking beside someone you’d gladly bleed for, whether they asked you to or not.
She glanced up at me, cheeks a little flushed from the effort, brow furrowed in concentration.
And all I could think was, Goddamn. I’m lucky she didn’t run.
“Here,” I murmured, kneeling beside her in the dim light of the cave.
She was struggling with the fire again—not badly, just enough that I knew stepping in would save us time. I reached for her hands, slow and deliberate, adjusting them gently over the kindling. My fingers grazed hers. Warm. Steady. She didn’t flinch. Just looked up at me through her lashes and gave me that soft smile—the one that hit harder than any blade.
Then she turned her attention back to the flint, brow furrowing in concentration. She was learning. Fast.
After a few more tries—and my quiet coaching—the spark finally caught.
The flame bloomed small and hungry, licking at the dry grass until it came alive with a soft crackle. The light chased the cold from the corners of the cave. It danced across her face, all gold and shadow, and I had to look away before I let too much show.
“You did it,” she breathed, delight breaking across her face like dawn.
“We did it,” I said, lips twitching into something close to a grin. “You learn quick.”
She tilted her head, studying me like she was trying to figure something out. “What else can you teach me?”
I paused, eyes still on the flame.
“Tracking,” I said eventually. “Touched on that before. Hunting. Survival stuff.”
“Really?” Her voice lit up—bright, curious, eager.
I nodded and rose slowly, feeling the tight pull of my shoulders from sleep and years of battle. We were close. Too close. And yet… not close enough.
The world outside was still waiting to tear us apart. But inside these walls? It was just us. Just now.
The next morning, we moved early. I started another fire pit near the cave’s edge, enough to warm us and boil some water. She helped, quiet and capable.
“Follow my lead,” I said, and we slipped into the brush as the sky turned pale.
She stayed close as I guided her through the terrain. I pointed to faint impressions in the dirt—soft, round, staggered. Rabbits. I showed her the way the branches were bent, the direction the prints curved, how fresh the scat was. She watched like she was memorizing every word, every movement.
She didn’t just listen.
She absorbed.
Every time I looked over, those green eyes were locked in—sharp, focused, hungry for knowledge. She moved through the wild like she was meant to be there, even if everything out here was trying to kill us.
An hour passed. Maybe two.
We landed three rabbits between us—two by me, one by her. I was surprised. Proud, though I didn’t say it outright.
Back at the cave, we settled in beside the fire. I laid the rabbits out on a flat stone, unsheathing my blade. The scent of iron clung to the air.
“All right,” I said, glancing over at her. “You ready?”
She nodded. Fierce. Determined.
I didn’t expect her to ask what came next—not like she did.
And I sure as hell didn’t expect the questions she had in store.
“What if we don’t eat tonight?” she asked, voice quieter than usual, barely rising above the wind scraping along the cave mouth.
Her hands were steady now, slicing through fur with more precision than I’d expected this early in the lesson. She’d flinched the first time—hell, her stomach had turned enough that I thought she’d back off. But she didn’t. She pushed through, like she always did.
And now here she was—hands stained, blade working, nerves hidden behind that stubborn tilt of her jaw.
“You’ll eat tonight,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be. Firm. Certain.
Because the second I saw that flicker of doubt in her eyes, that moment where she let herself imagine going without, it lit something in me I couldn’t put out. I wasn’t letting her go hungry. Not now. Not ever.
Not while I was breathing.
Her eyes flicked to mine. “Good,” she murmured, and there was something almost shy in it—like maybe she wasn’t used to being looked after. Like maybe hearing someone promise that was new.
But it was more than the words. It was the way she leaned just slightly toward me, like the heat we shared was safer than the cold creeping in from the world outside. The fire flickered low, shadows stretching long against the stone walls, but the warmth between us held.
I could feel it—hers and mine. That slow, quiet pulse of something growing in the middle of all this ruin.
Outside, the wind howled like it was trying to remind us where we were. What we were still running from. But in here, right now, it was just us. Just the scrape of her blade, the flick of firelight across her cheeks, the way her breath came steady despite everything this world had tried to take from her.
I watched her finish the cut, fingers moving with more confidence now. She was getting it. Fast.
And I couldn’t help the thought that hit me hard in the chest: She’s meant to survive.
With or without me.
Chapter 29
Everly
The morning sun sifted through the trees in soft gold, catching on the leaves like stained glass. It should’ve felt peaceful, almost pretty, but there was a tension hanging in the air that I couldn’t shake—thick and heavy, like a warning I couldn’t quite hear but felt in my bones.
We walked in silence. Deeper into the woods. I kept my eyes on the trail, trying to steady my breath and ignore the way my skin prickled every time the wind shifted.
But Walton—he was different.
Quieter.
Too quiet.
He moved like a man carrying something just under his skin. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, and his eyes never stopped scanning the trees. Not in the casual way he usually did. This wasn’t routine caution.
It was expectation.
He kept looking back over his shoulder, and every time he did, that strange, crawling unease got worse. Like he knew something was coming and hadn’t decided yet if I should know too.
Silence padded alongside us, ears twitching, head low. She didn’t growl. Didn’t bark. But the way she watched the woods—it made my stomach twist. That kind of quiet wasn’t comfort. It was focus.
Something was out there.
“Walton?” I asked, my voice soft, careful not to break whatever fragile stillness he was holding together. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t look at me. Just shrugged. “Nothing.”
Nothing.
That word landed like a lie.
Because I saw the way his hand shifted on the grip of his weapon. The way his eyes narrowed like he was measuring the shadows for movement. Whatever was going through his head, it wasn’t nothing.
I wanted to press. To ask, to know—but a part of me hesitated. Maybe I didn’t want the answer. Maybe I didn’t want to know what he wasn’t saying out loud, because if he was afraid, then it meant we should be running.
Not walking.
I noticed then that he wasn’t beside me anymore. At some point, without a word, he’d moved behind me. Not out of habit. Not coincidence.
It was deliberate.
Every step he took was measured, placed with purpose. I could feel his presence like a shield at my back.
“You’re being sweet,” I said, half-smile curling my lips, hoping maybe teasing would shake something loose in him. A laugh. A confession.
He didn’t answer. Just shifted his stance again, scanning the brush.
Then a rustle came—a small one, barely there—and Walton’s whole body tensed like a wire pulled taut. His arm slipped around my waist, tugging me just a bit closer.
“Just stay close,” he said.
Not a command. A warning.
I let myself lean into him, let the gesture feel like safety. But deep down, something clawed at the edge of my thoughts.
Because Walton didn’t spook easy.
And if he was scared of something out there…
Then maybe I should be too.
We made camp hours later. The fire crackled low as dusk settled around us, painting Walton’s face in gold and shadow. I watched him from where I leaned against a tree, arms crossed loosely, pretending I wasn’t studying his every move.
He worked in silence—methodical, precise, like every piece of kindling he stacked was another brick in the wall he kept rebuilding between us.
And I hated it.
Because I’d seen what was behind that wall. I’d felt it—his warmth, his fear, his need. And now he was slipping back behind that quiet, that mask, like he hadn’t kissed me with fire just days ago. Like I wasn’t right here, still choosing him.
So I smiled, let a little tease into my voice. Tried to cut through the silence like a knife through fog.
“If we weren’t being hunted right now,” I said lightly, “what would you do? Go fishing? Finally teach me that tongue thing?”
He froze for half a second—mid-motion, fingers curled around a piece of wood—before his eyes slid to mine, narrow and dark. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he crushed it back down.
“You don’t wanna know how I’d teach you that,” he muttered, turning back to the fire like it hadn’t cost him something to say it.
I laughed, soft and coaxing. “Oh? You’re just going to leave me hanging like that?”
I pushed off the tree and took a step toward him.
He turned so fast it stole my breath. One step, and he was in front of me. His hands rose, cupping my face, and then his lips were on mine—firm, hot, claiming. But not like before.
This wasn’t hunger.
This was armor.
I felt it in the way he held me—not to pull me closer, but to protect. As if kissing me could hide me from the thing chasing us. As if I’d shatter if he let go.
When he pulled back, I searched his face, already knowing I wasn’t going to like what I saw.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked softly, not demanding—just asking. Begging.
His jaw tensed. He folded his arms across his chest like he needed something to hold. “Nothing’s going on.”
I frowned. “Don’t lie to me.”
The crack in my voice came from somewhere I didn’t want to name. Because I could take demons, darkness, whatever else this wasteland had to throw at us. But not this. Not being shut out like I was some innocent thing he needed to shelter instead of someone standing beside him in the fire.
He exhaled hard, sharp, like the truth was choking him. “It’s just—”
“Just what?” I asked. “Just because we're traveling together again, you think you have to carry everything alone? That’s not how this works, Walton. You don’t get to protect me by disappearing.”
“I’m not shutting you out!”
“Then talk to me!”
My voice cracked. My hands curled into fists at my sides. He looked away—just for a second—but it said everything. “I can’t afford any distractions,” he bit out, jaw tight.
I flinched.
There it was.
“Is that what I am?” I whispered. “A distraction?”
The question hit the air like ash—hot and heavy, impossible to breathe around. He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the fire like it might save him from saying what we both already felt pulling between us.
And for a long, terrible moment, we stood in the silence.
Not broken.
Not whole.
Just burning.
I could see the words in his eyes before they ever reached his mouth—something bitter and sharp, something he was trying not to say but couldn’t keep buried any longer.
Then he turned toward me fully, voice low and taut with frustration. “You think this is easy for me?” he snapped. “You think I like holdin’ this back from you?”
I straightened, arms crossing over my chest. “Then why are you doing it?”
