Reckoning, page 20
“I’m not that strong,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” he cut in, his grip tightening around my hand. His eyes caught mine, fierce even as they softened. “Strong ain’t never meant perfect. Strong means you keep standin’, even when the world tries to grind you down. That’s you, angel. You don’t even see it, but I do. Every damn day.”
The words rooted deep, filling the hollow places the guilt had carved out of me. I leaned back into him, closing my eyes against his shoulder.
Maybe we were both drowning in blood and sin. But right then, I believed him. Maybe we could still keep going. Together.
I pressed my cheek against his shoulder, letting his words sink in, letting them wrap around the places inside me that had been raw and bleeding since Michael’s sanctum. The fire cracked, sparks shooting up into the night sky, but all I could hear was Walton’s steady heartbeat beneath my ear, the rough cadence of his breath. For so long, I’d prayed for strength, prayed for deliverance, prayed for God to remind me I wasn’t alone. And the answer hadn’t come in a voice from Heaven—it had come in him.
“You know,” I whispered, my voice trembling but steady enough to push through, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look down at me, suspicion flickering across his face like he didn’t believe it. His thumb brushed against my knuckles again, grounding me. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep going. “I couldn’t have survived what Michael did to me. I couldn't survive the Forsaken. Not really. Not without you.”
His jaw tensed, his whole body coiling with fury at the name, but I tightened my grip on his shirt before he could speak. “Listen to me. When he… when he touched me, when he tried to strip away everything I thought I was, you’re what I held onto. I kept hearing your voice in my head, reminding me I wasn’t just his prisoner. That I belonged to someone who actually loved me. That I wasn’t just a body for someone to use.”
My throat ached, but I forced the words out anyway, because he needed to hear them, because I needed to say them. “I remembered the way you looked at me like I was worth somethin’ more than scripture or obedience. Like I was worth being fought for. That memory kept me breathing. It kept me fighting, even when I wanted to give up.”
Walton’s eyes darkened, but not with anger this time. With something heavier. He didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt, just let me empty myself out in the firelight.
“I prayed to God every night in that room,” I said, tears blurring my vision, “but the strength I felt—it wasn’t some miracle. It was you. You were my strength. My reminder that love was real. That even if the whole world had gone rotten, there was still one thing worth clinging to.” I let out a shaky laugh, bitter and soft. “And it wasn’t an angel. It was you.”
Walton’s breath hitched, his hand tightening around mine until it almost hurt, but I welcomed the pain. It meant he was here, solid and real.
“I couldn’t have survived him,” I whispered, voice cracking on the truth, “if I didn’t have you to come back to.”
For a long time he said nothing, his silence louder than the fire, than the night, than my heartbeat. But his eyes—God, his eyes—were molten, fierce, almost broken with the weight of what I’d handed him.
And for once, I didn’t care if I was fragile. I wanted him to know that he was my answer, my anchor, my salvation in a world gone to hell.
He sat there staring at me like I’d carved him open. For a long moment, Walton didn’t say a thing—just let the firelight paint shadows across his face, hard edges softened by the way his eyes searched mine. He looked furious and broken and reverent all at once, like he didn’t know whether to curse or fall to his knees.
Finally, his hand came up, rough fingers cradling my face with a gentleness that always undid me. His thumb brushed beneath my eye, smearing away tears I hadn’t realized were still falling. His voice cracked when he finally spoke, low and unsteady, “You give me too much credit, angel. I’m no savior. I’m just a bastard who’s killed more than he can count. A man who’s failed more than he’s ever won.”
I shook my head against his palm, my chest aching at how deeply he believed it. “You’re mine. My-my husband. That’s all that matters.”
Something flickered in him then—pain and disbelief and the faintest spark of hope. He pulled me close, pressing his forehead against mine, his voice rough in the space between us. “You don’t know what it does to me, hearin’ you say that. Makes me wanna be better than I am. But Everly…” His breath shook. “If I’m your strength, then God help us both. Because I’ll burn the whole damn world before I let it touch you again.”
I didn’t doubt it.
We stayed there a while, wrapped in each other and in the silence, listening to the fire crackle down to embers. My heartbeat slowed against his chest, steadier now, tethered to his. The forest around us felt less like a graveyard and more like a promise.
When I finally pulled back, wiping my eyes, I let the weight of what I’d seen in Mary’s map settle into my voice. “We can’t just survive this, Walton. We have to do more. The Bunkers—they twist scripture, twist children. If we don’t burn them down, it’ll never end.”
He grunted, dragging in a breath like he’d already known I was going to say it. His gaze shifted to the dark horizon, to the jagged shadows of ruin and wasteland. “That’s a war you’re askin’ for.”
“I know,” I said softly. “But I’d rather die fighting than let another child believe obedience is the only way to God.”
His jaw worked, rough and stubborn, but his arm tightened around me all the same.
I leaned into him, staring out at the same horizon, and felt the fire of resolve settling in my bones. Whatever waited for us—angels, demons, death—we weren’t going back.
Not to cages. Not to sanctums.
Tomorrow, the war for the Bunkers would begin.
Chapter 22
Walton
Twilight bled across the wasteland, that in-between light where everything looked like ghosts. The horizon was jagged with ruin, and there—just barely outlined against the fading sky—stood the shape of a Bunker. Another cage. Another place that needed burning.
I kept my eyes fixed on it, scanning for movement, for the glint of patrols in gold armor, for the sound of wings cutting air. Silence prowled ahead of us, nose down, ears twitching, every muscle coiled like a spring. She was smarter than I was half the time, always picking up danger before I could see it.
Everly walked beside me, the map Mary had given her clutched tight in her hand. Her face was set hard, stone where I’d grown used to fire. She hadn’t said much since we left camp that morning, and that always put me on edge. Quiet Everly meant she was carrying something heavier than I could see.
I lit a cigarette, let the smoke curl from my mouth in slow streams, watching the way the wind carried it toward that bunker’s outline. Couldn’t shake the feeling the place was already watching us, waiting. My gut twisted with the weight of what was coming.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Even in the half-light, she looked tired—hell, we both did—but there was a resolve there that burned sharper than exhaustion. She was carrying more than her share: guilt, hope, rage, faith. It scared me sometimes, how much she believed, not just in God but in me. Scared me worse that I wanted so bad to be worth it.
“Map still sayin’ we’re headin’ right?” I asked, more to break the silence than anything.
She nodded without looking at me. “Straight ahead.” Her voice was clipped, but steady. No tremor. No hesitation.
I dragged another pull from the cigarette, exhaled hard, and muttered, “Then straight ahead it is.”
The outline of the Bunker grew clearer as we walked, every step pulling us closer to whatever waited inside. I could feel Everly’s conviction radiating off her like heat, even through the silence. I wasn’t sure if I was walkin’ toward redemption or damnation.
Didn’t matter. Long as she was beside me, I’d see it through.
The fire was small, just enough to keep the cold from gnawing at our bones, tucked under the lip of a rocky outcrop so the light wouldn’t carry. Silence lay curled at the edge of the glow, ears twitching at every sound in the dark. I chewed through the last of the dried hare without tasting it, eyes on the flames, letting the crackle of burning wood fill the quiet.
Everly sat across from me, the map folded neatly in her lap. The firelight danced across her face, painting her in shifting gold and shadow, soft one second and hard as iron the next. She hadn’t said a word since we stopped. Just sat there, shoulders tense, chewing slow, like she was working something over in her head.
Finally, she set the tin plate aside and looked at me. Her eyes were steady, but there was something behind them—something that told me she already knew I wasn’t gonna like what came next.
“Walton…” she started, her voice low but clear. “When we reach the Bunker, I’m going to have to go in.”
I froze. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d misheard her. Then the words sank in, sharp as glass. My jaw clenched tight, cigarette burning forgotten between my fingers.
“The hell you are,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. The sound of my own voice echoed off the stone, harsher than the fire deserved.
She didn’t flinch. She just held my gaze, calm in that way she got when she was already dead set on something. That scared me more than her trembling ever had.
I leaned forward, elbows braced on my knees, firelight catching on the edge of my blade as I set it down beside me. “You know what’s waitin’ in there, darling? Men who’d sell their own blood, angels who’d tear you apart, scripture twisted so tight it strangles the kids they’ve got penned up. You walk in there, you don’t come back out.”
Her fingers tightened on the folded map, knuckles white, but she didn’t look away.
My chest was tight, a mix of rage and fear and something worse—helplessness. Because I knew, by the look in her eyes, she wasn’t askin’.
She was tellin’ me.
The flames cracked low, spitting sparks that drifted up into the night air. Everly’s face was carved half in shadow, half in firelight, her eyes steady on mine. Her voice came quiet at first, but it carried like a blade across the silence.
“If I don’t, nothing changes,” she said. “I grew up in those halls—they’ll listen to me. Maybe not all, but some.”
My gut twisted. I could already see the path she was laying out, and I hated every damn step of it. “You walk in there, you don’t come out,” I repeated. My voice came out low, rough, almost a growl. “You think they’ll just let you waltz in and preach? They’ll eat you alive before you get two words out.”
She didn’t back down. Fire caught in her tone, sharp and hot. “What’s the point of tearing them down if I never try to reach the people inside? God didn’t put me here just to watch you burn everything.”
That hit hard, deeper than I wanted it to. I leaned forward, fists planted on my knees, meeting her eyes with all the fury boiling in my chest. “God didn’t put you here to die either. You ain’t goin’ in, angel. Not while I’m breathin’.”
The fire cracked louder between us; the air gone tight as a snare. I could feel it—her stubbornness meeting mine head-on, sparking off each other like steel on flint. My fear dressed itself in anger; her faith dressed itself in defiance. Neither of us moved. Neither of us blinked.
She was everything I couldn’t control, and that scared the hell out of me. And maybe that’s why my voice came harsher, darker: because I couldn’t stand the thought of losin’ her to the same halls that had already stolen too much from her.
But the way she looked at me—like she’d already accepted the risk, like the decision was branded into her bones—tore at me worse than any angel’s blade.
Anger. Fear. Desire. It all tangled up in the heat between us, and I knew one thing for certain: this fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The fire spat and cracked, throwing heat that did nothing to cut the cold sinking into my gut. Everly leaned toward me, eyes blazing, and her voice sliced through the night.
“You can’t protect me from everything!”
It hit me like a slap, not because it wasn’t true, but because she said it like she wanted me to accept it. Like surrendering her to danger was something I could live with. My chest burned, fury and fear tangling together until I didn’t know which one was louder in my blood.
“Like hell I can’t,” I snarled back, every word scraping raw out of me. “I’ll die before I let them touch you again.”
Her lips parted, breath coming hard. We were so close now, inches apart, the kind of closeness that wasn’t tender but dangerous, heat pressed against heat. Her face was carved in firelight, jaw tight, eyes wet and furious. Mine must’ve been no better, shadowed, twisted by the kind of rage that was born from love too heavy to carry clean.
“You don’t get it,” she shot back, her voice ragged. “If I don’t walk into those halls, then nothing changes. And if nothing changes, then all we’ve done—all we’ve lost—means nothing.”
The words dug straight into me, but I couldn’t let go. Couldn’t let her throw herself to wolves and call it purpose. My hands twitched at my sides, aching to grab her, to hold her, to anchor her to me so she couldn’t vanish back into hell.
Silence growled low from the shadows, sensing the storm rolling between us. The fire snapped loud, sparks leaping up like the world itself was echoing the clash.
I leaned in that last inch, my forehead almost brushing hers, and growled low, teeth clenched, voice breaking with the weight of it, “You’re not dyin’ for this, Everly. Not for them. Not while I’ve got breath left.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. She didn’t flinch. And God help me, in that moment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to drag her away from the fire—or throw myself into it with her.
Everly shoved me square in the chest—not hard enough to budge me, just enough to strike a spark off the powder keg between us. The fire behind her lit her face in sharp, angry gold, but her hand trembled against me.
Before she could pull back, I caught her wrist, rough fingers wrapping around her pulse. I yanked her flush against me; the map crumpling between us, her heartbeat hammering against mine like it was trying to break through.
Our mouths crashed together, messy and desperate, more battle than kiss. It was teeth and breath and fire, the clash of everything unsaid pouring out all at once. Her lips tasted like ash and defiance, like every fight we’d ever had was meant to end right here.
I didn’t let her go. Couldn’t. The world was falling to ruin around us, bunkers waiting in the dark, angels hunting at our backs—but right then, all I knew was the heat of her mouth and the truth that if I lost her again, there wouldn’t be anything left of me to save.
I pulled back just far enough to feel her breath ghost hot against my mouth, her lips still trembling from the clash. My voice came out low, rough, the words a growl against her skin.
“Little viper…” I murmured, the corner of my mouth brushing hers.
Before she could answer, I crushed my mouth back to hers, deeper this time. Not messy, not frantic—hungry. Her lips parted under mine, soft and yielding, but there was fire there too, the kind that met me blow for blow. Her hand came up, gripping at my shirt, fingers twisting tight like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go. I angled her closer, tilting her chin with the edge of my thumb, drinking her in like a man starved.
The kiss burned through me, molten and endless. Every drag of her mouth against mine, every hitch of her breath, it all hit harder than any blade or bullet ever had. The fire at our backs threw sparks, but it was nothing compared to the blaze between us, heat that devoured everything in its path—anger, fear, guilt, all of it folding into something rawer, truer.
I tasted salt where her tears had slipped free, but I didn’t let go. Didn’t let her hide it. I kissed her like she was mine, like I was staking the claim I’d bleed for a thousand times over if it meant she knew it. Her lips pressed harder in return, answering with a desperation that cut straight through my chest.
The world beyond the outcrop didn’t matter—the bunkers, the angels, the endless wasteland. It all faded until there was nothing left but the press of her mouth, the wild hammer of her heart against me, and the fire that roared between our bodies.
When I finally tore back for air, it wasn’t distance I left—it was a promise, my forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged, voice still scraping low. “You’ll burn me alive, sugar. And I’ll thank you for it.”
The fight twisted before I even realized it was happening—anger bleeding into something hotter, sharper, impossible to hold back. Her hands fisted in my shirt, my own sliding down her back like I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. The firelight threw wild shadows across us, painting us in gold and black, like we were both forged right here, in this moment, out of flame and fury. Every breath between us was ragged, every brush of her lips pulling me deeper into the kind of storm I’d never crawl out of.
My mouth lingered at the corner of hers, words scraping raw against her lips, rough but reverent. “Stubborn fool.”
She laughed, if you could call it that—half-laugh, half-moan, breaking against my mouth like she didn’t know whether to fight me or fall into me. “You love me,” she breathed, the words catching fire in my chest.
I pulled her closer, so close I could feel every shudder of her body against mine, and let the truth rip out of me in a growl. “More than my own damn life.”
Her breath hitched, sharp and sweet against my mouth, and I kissed her again before she could say anything more—before I could lose my nerve. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t clean. It was need and desperation and something far bigger than either of us. Her lips met mine with the same hunger, the same fire, like we were both clinging to the only thing left that made sense in this godforsaken world.
