Reckoning, page 17
“Coal don’t get to tell the pressure to stop, angel,” I muttered, my voice rough but sure. “It just adapts. Turns into a diamond.” I looked at her then, really looked, and saw the way her shoulders trembled despite the strength in her words. “That’s what you’re doin’. Evolving. Hell, Proverbs goes on and on about wisdom being worth more than jewels. Guess you’re proof of it.”
Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue, but nothing came. Instead, her grip loosened a little on the cup, the metal clinking soft against her nails. She blinked, and I thought I saw some of the fear ease in her eyes, replaced by something quieter. Not peace—she wasn’t there yet—but maybe understanding.
I leaned closer, elbows braced on my knees, my gaze steady on her. “You ain’t losin’ yourself, Everly. You’re findin’ out what you’re made of. Pressure does that. You don’t come out the same, but you come out truer. Stronger.”
She swallowed, then let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “You make it sound like all this suffering has a purpose.”
I smirked without humor, tore another bite from the hare. “Maybe it does. Or maybe it don’t. Either way, you’re still standin’. And that counts for somethin’.”
The fire popped between us, sending sparks into the night. She stared into the flames, and I caught the smallest curve of her lips—fragile, but real. Until her eyes shifted to me. She studied me across the fire, her eyes narrowed just a little like she was trying to solve a puzzle. Finally, she asked, almost hesitant, “How do you know so much about scripture?”
For a moment, I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was the kind of question no one had asked me in years. I leaned back, let the firelight play across my face, and gave her a half-smirk that didn’t reach my eyes. “’Cause there was a time I believed.”
That made her still. The way she looked at me, it wasn’t with judgment—it was curiosity, maybe even a touch of sorrow. “And now?”
I huffed out a breath, dragging my hand down my jaw before I answered. “Now? I believe in you, sugar.” My voice dropped, low and certain. “Today, you were somethin’ fierce. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that confident. Looked like God Himself was speakin’ through you.”
Her cheeks colored in the fire’s glow, and she gave a little huff, half-embarrassed. “I’m not sure about that.” She shifted her gaze to the flames, as if the crackle of burning wood might swallow her doubt. Then, softer, “But… do you think they heard me? Do you think it mattered?”
I tilted my head, watching the uncertainty tug at her features. She didn’t see herself the way I did—not yet. “Hell, Everly, I saw their faces. Some were shaken, some were thinkin’. That preacher had ‘em all wound up in fear, and you cut through it. You planted somethin’. Seeds take time, but they grow.”
She blinked at me, chewing on her bottom lip like she wanted to believe but didn’t dare. The firelight caught in her hair, and for a moment I thought she looked like one of those saints in the old paintings—fierce, scarred, but glowing all the same.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and let my voice soften. “It mattered, angel. Don’t doubt that. You mattered.”
Her eyes glistened in the firelight, and though she tried to mask it with a small smile, I saw the relief ripple through her shoulders. She wanted to be heard. Needed to be. And I’d be damned if I didn’t keep reminding her she already was.
I shrugged, staring into the fire, my voice coming out lower than I meant it to. “Who’s to say? You can’t save everyone, Everly. Whether it’s people or children—you just can’t.” I felt the weight of those words as I spoke them, because I’d lived them. Too many faces buried in my memory, too many names I couldn’t say out loud anymore.
She exhaled, soft but heavy, and for a moment her gaze drifted past me, like she was looking at something I couldn’t see. “Jesus wept for the ones He couldn’t save. The ones who wouldn’t believe.” Her voice cracked on the word wept, and damn if it didn’t twist something in my chest.
“Even so,” I answered, forcing my tone steady, “He couldn’t save everyone. You can’t put that weight on yourself, angel. It ain’t your job.” I meant it like a warning, because I knew what that road led to—the endless clawing at redemption you’d never reach, the fury at a God who never swooped in to stop the bleeding. I’d walked that road. I was still on it.
She nodded, slow and deliberate, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. “I know.” The way she said it told me she believed me with her head, not her heart. Her eyes still burned with something untamed.
I arched a brow, cocking my head toward her. “And yet…”
Her lips pressed together before she answered, voice trembling but firm. “And yet I still want to try. Then at least I can say I did everything in my power.”
I leaned back, chewing on the inside of my cheek, watching her like I was seeing her for the first time. That stubborn streak of hers—fueled by faith and fire—wasn’t gonna burn out easy. Part of me wanted to drag her back, shield her from the kind of pain that conviction brought. Another part knew there was no stopping her. And maybe, just maybe, I didn’t want to.
Because when she said it, with that quiet ferocity, I believed her. And worse—I believed she might actually do it.
I let out a sigh that came from somewhere deep in my bones, the kind that carried years of grit and grief. Her face was half-lit by the fire, shadows dancing across the scars and softness alike. A loose strand of hair had slipped down, catching the glow, and without thinking I reached out, brushing it back behind her ear. My thumb lingered a second longer than it should have, calloused skin against the curve of her cheek.
“Stubborn fool,” I muttered, my voice rougher than I intended. But there wasn’t anger in it—not really. Just a weight, a kind of awe wrapped in exasperation. She had no idea what she did to me.
Her lips curled faintly, the ghost of a smile tugging through the fatigue etched into her features. “You love me,” she said, not as a question but as if she were laying down a truth I couldn’t outrun. Her eyes searched mine, like she needed me to confirm it aloud—needed it as much as the air she breathed.
I swallowed hard, feeling the fire crackle against my back, the silence heavy between us. “With every beat of my heart,” I said, steady and unflinching. The words came easy, maybe too easy, but they were truer than anything I’d ever spoken. My chest tightened as soon as I said them, like giving voice to that kind of love meant admitting just how much I had to lose.
Her faint smile trembled, and for a second I thought she might cry, but instead she leaned into my hand, pressing her cheek against my palm like it was the only place she found shelter. And maybe it was. God help me, maybe it always would be.
I sat there watching her, realizing she’d wormed her way past every wall I’d built, every defense I thought made me untouchable. She carried her stubborn hope like a torch in the dark, and even though I cursed it, it had lit something inside me I thought had burned out long ago.
“Then don’t let me go,” she whispered, almost too soft to hear.
My grip on her tightened, and I lowered my forehead against hers, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping me tethered. “Never,” I promised, the word a vow as much to myself as to her. And for the first time in a long damn while, I meant it.
I kissed her—slow, firm, hungry, like a man who’d been starved too long and finally found sustenance. The taste of her wasn’t just lips and breath; it was survival; it was life flooding back into my chest after too many years of hollow wandering. She leaned into me without hesitation, her fingers fisting in my shirt as if holding on to something she feared might disappear. And God help me, I knew that fear, because I carried it too.
Every flicker of flame painted her differently—soft, fierce, fragile, eternal. The heat wasn’t just from the blaze anymore; it coiled between us, rising, tugging, pulling us closer until the space for breath itself seemed like too much distance. My hands found her waist, grounding me in the reality of her—warm, alive, mine.
I deepened the kiss, the hunger in me edging out restraint. My lips trailed from her mouth down the line of her jaw, over the delicate skin of her throat. Each brush of my mouth left its mark, not bruising but claiming, reverent even in my need. She tilted her head back just slightly, a silent surrender that made my heart ache.
“Walton,” she exhaled, the sound of my name spilling from her like a prayer. It struck something inside me—raw, vulnerable, dangerous. For a heartbeat, there was no Michael, no bunkers, no angels plotting damnation. There was just her voice, soft against the night, carrying me back to a place I thought I’d never belong again.
The world could burn around us—I wouldn’t have noticed. All that mattered was the woman in my arms, the way her breath hitched beneath my lips, the tremor of her hands gripping me tighter, needing me as much as I needed her. In that moment, nothing else existed. Just us. Just love carved out of ruin, fragile and furious, daring to defy the darkness closing in on every side.
Her mouth was fire under mine, a steady burn that spread through my chest and down into every part of me that had been hollow too long. I kissed her harder, pulling her closer until there was no space left, until the only air I breathed was hers. Her fingers curled into my shirt, desperate, anchoring me as though she feared the night itself would steal me away. My hands splayed against her back, feeling the tremor of her breath, the quickening of her heartbeat that matched my own.
The firelight painted her skin in shifting gold and shadow, each flicker making her look unreal—something holy and untouchable, yet entirely mine in this moment. I let my lips trail from her mouth to her throat, slow and deliberate, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the shiver that ran through her when I lingered there. She whispered my name, soft, broken, and it felt less like sound and more like surrender.
Her warmth pressed into me, molding against me until I couldn’t tell where she ended and I began. Every shift of her body sent sparks racing through me, raw and consuming, a heat that bordered on unbearable but I didn’t dare let go. I wanted to memorize her like this—every tremble, every breath, every soft gasp she gave me when my hands slid lower, holding her as if the world could crumble and she’d still be safe in my arms.
I slowed, forcing myself to breathe, to savor rather than rush. She deserved more than hunger—she deserved reverence. My fingers traced the line of her waist, committing it to memory, while I pressed a kiss against her collarbone, then another, then another, each one a vow unspoken. Her head tilted, giving me more, and God help me, the trust in that small gesture nearly undid me more than desire ever could.
The fire crackled low; the night hushed as though the world itself knew to step back and leave us in our fragile, fevered sanctuary. She was everything—heat and light, strength and softness—and as I held her closer, as her nails grazed the back of my neck and she whispered my name again, I knew this wasn’t just hunger. It was worship. It was love carved raw out of ruin, daring the dark to try to take it back.
Chapter 19
Everly
The dirt road stretched ahead of us, narrow and rutted, trees pressing in so close it felt like the world itself wanted to swallow us whole. Midday sun broke through the branches in patches, spilling gold and shadow across Walton’s back as he walked a few paces ahead, rifle slung but ready. Silence padded beside us, her dark shape moving like a shadow I could trust more than my own.
I kept my grip tight on the map Mary had pressed into my hands that morning, the paper already creased soft from where I’d folded and refolded it a hundred times. My mind ran the plan over and over—get to the Bunker, find the children, pull them out before the lies ate them alive. Burn the rot at its root. No mistakes. No wavering.
Still, my chest ached with a sharp kind of fear that wasn’t about myself. It was about them—the small voices I hadn’t even heard yet but felt heavy on my heart. I pictured them like shadows behind bars, waiting for someone to believe they were worth saving.
Walton’s shoulders rolled as he scanned the treeline, steady and watchful. I could almost feel the weight of his silence pressing back against my own thoughts, an anchor and a warning. He’d keep us alive if it came to a fight. But the part that mattered—that was mine to carry.
I whispered a prayer into the thick air, barely moving my lips. “Lord, if You’ve brought me this far, don’t let me falter.” My voice felt small, swallowed by the trees, but I trusted He’d heard me, anyway. He always did.
The dirt crunched beneath my boots, dry and brittle, every step a reminder that there was no turning back. My pulse thudded with each word I repeated in my head like a mantra: confront, free, burn.
Confront the Bunker.
Free the children.
Burn the lies.
I lifted my eyes to Walton’s back, his stride unbending, and drew in a breath as steady as I could manage. My hands might shake, my faith might strain, but my purpose—my purpose would not.
Not here. Not now.
The first sound was small—just a branch snapping somewhere above. I froze mid-step; the map crinkling in my fist. Silence went rigid at my side, ears pricked, a low growl curling from her throat.
Then they came.
The air shifted, heavy, charged. Sunlight caught on something sharp, blinding me for half a breath before my eyes adjusted. Wings. White, but not pure—their edges darkened and frayed, blackened as though the sun itself had scorched them. Blades gleamed in their hands, catching every shard of light as they descended through the trees like judgment itself.
Michael’s soldiers.
My heart lurched into my throat. The stories Mary had whispered to me, the warnings carved into old journals, every whispered fear of what they were capable of—it all collided in a single breathless moment.
Walton swore under his breath, rough and sharp, and his hand clamped around my arm. He yanked me back, behind him, his body moving like a shield. I stumbled, boots skidding in the dirt, but his grip didn’t let me fall.
The angels closed in too fast for running. No open ground, no road wide enough to escape. Their faces were carved from something cold and merciless, eyes burning with purpose I couldn’t fathom. My chest seized—not from lack of faith, but the raw knowledge that faith alone wasn’t going to stop them.
Walton’s voice cut through the air, low and certain. “Stay sharp. You fight, or you die.”
I swallowed hard. My palms slicked with sweat against the hilt of my knife. Fight or die. There was no room for trembling hands, no space for second-guessing.
The nearest angel tilted its head as though curious, blade lifting in a slow, deliberate arc. My fear threatened to choke me, but something fiercer rose beneath it—Mary’s voice, the children’s imagined faces, the prayer I’d whispered not five minutes earlier.
Lord, don’t let me falter.
I straightened, stepped out from Walton’s shadow just enough to show I wasn’t going to crumble. My pulse roared in my ears as the first angel lunged, light flashing off its blade.
Fight or die. I chose fight.
One of them broke from the line—taller, blade lowered but not sheathed. His voice was smooth as marble, cold as river stone.
“We mean no harm,” he said, wings twitching like the lie itself was heavy on his tongue. “We’ve come for Michael’s bride.”
My breath stalled. Bride. The word slammed into me like a strike to the chest. Bride to a tyrant. Bride to the one who’d ordered so much blood spilled. My stomach turned.
Before I could find words, Walton was already in front of me, shoulders squared like a wall. His voice cracked out like thunder. “Fuck off. She’s my wife.”
The dirt under my boots felt suddenly sacred, claimed—not by the angels, not by Michael, but by the man who stood between me and every sharpened edge.
The angels’ expressions twisted all at once, as if his words had defiled them more than blood ever could. One spat in the dirt. Another’s blade gleamed higher, righteous fury etched into his face.
The lead angel’s voice rose, each word soaked in venom. “Look at him. A half-breed abomination playing at husband. A thing of ash and shadow clinging to a mortal shell. You think he can save you? You think he can love you? Demons only destroy. You will go to Hell, you know this, don't you? You will burn—"
With a snarl, Walton lunged. His blade caught the sunlight as it slashed down, fast and merciless, the clash of steel ringing so loud it rattled my bones. Silence was a blur at his flank, fangs sinking deep into another angel’s thigh. The creature howled, wings beating madly as blood sprayed into the dirt.
I stumbled back, heart hammering, then forced my shaking hands to steady. The dagger felt too small in my grip, but it was all I had.
“Focus, Everly,” I whispered to myself.
My fingers traced the air, the Runes glowing faint gold as I carved them trembling. A spear shot toward me, tip hungry for my chest—instinct surged, and the shield rune burst to life. Sparks flew as steel met an unseen barrier inches from my heart.
The impact jarred me to the bone, but the Rune held. For the moment.
I gasped, sweat stinging my eyes, and turned, already scratching another set of symbols into the frozen air. Power sang through my arm, hot and wild. The earth trembled—roots tore from the ground, wrapping themselves around an angel’s wings, binding tight like living chains.
He roared, thrashing. For a heartbeat, I thought it would hold.
Then with a surge of muscle and fury, the angel ripped free, snapping the roots like twine. His gaze burned into me, holy wrath ready to swallow me whole.
