I jerked my gaze back to the fire.

  “Let’s focus on getting closer,” I said. “Once we’re in range, we can scout. Get a real read on what we’re dealing with.”

  She murmured a quiet “Right,” and went back to folding the map. Her hands moved like she’d done it a thousand times. Calm. Careful.

  The fire popped as darkness crept in around us, thick and close. No more stars out here—just smoke and the memory of light.

  It was just the two of us now. Me, the girl I swore I wouldn’t let die, and a world that wanted us in pieces.

  The fire crackled low, throwing sparks and shadows that danced across Everly’s face. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, the flames warming the front of me while the cold night pressed in everywhere else. She sat across from me, her expression tightening, that worry line between her brows cutting deeper the longer we sat quiet.

  “We stop at The Seraph's Embrace first,” I said, voice low and even. “I want to have a chat with Seraph.”

  Her whole body went stiff like I’d slapped her. “Why?”

  I stared into the fire. “Because she owes me information. And she needs to pay for what she did.”

  Everly went quiet. Her hands slowed over the map in her lap, fingers pressing into the creases like she needed something to ground her. I watched the flicker of emotion cross her face—worry, maybe guilt, maybe something she didn’t want me to see.

  “I thought we were done with that place,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “Doesn’t matter what we thought.” My tone came out harder than I meant, but I didn’t walk it back. “We need answers. About Rex. Seraph’s in it deeper than she wants us to know. And she sold you."

  Just saying her name left a bad taste in my mouth. Seraph. Always talking in riddles, always playing her angles. She smiled like a savior but smelled like smoke and secrets. She was the kind of woman you didn’t turn your back on—hell; you didn’t even blink too long.

  Everly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, jaw clenched. “You really think she’ll help us?”

  “Absolutely the fuck not,” I muttered. “I plan to kill her once I get the information."

  Her eyes met mine, filled with doubt. “And if she doesn’t just give us the information?”

  I leaned back, feeling the rough bark of the tree dig into my spine. Just thinking about Seraph made my pulse spike. Our last meeting hadn’t ended with a handshake—it ended with blood and bruises and things neither of us said out loud.

  “Then we make her talk.”

  Everly sighed hard, like she’d been holding her breath since I brought it up. The air shifted—heavier, colder, thick with everything we hadn’t said since Ironedge.

  “I don’t trust her,” she said finally, her voice edged with something brittle.

  I looked right at her. “Neither do I.”

  That wasn’t the point. Trust didn’t matter anymore. We needed leverage. We needed anything that might help us get ahead of Rex.

  The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. It was the kind that clung to your ribs, made the fire seem farther away. We were both bracing for the same storm—just from different sides of it.

  And I couldn’t shake the feeling that by the time we were done with Seraph, something between us might never be the same again.

  “What is it?” I asked, leveling her with a look I’d used on a dozen targets before her—but this time, it wasn’t about intimidation. It felt more like trying to pry open a door she’d bolted from the inside.

  She didn’t answer right away. Just let out a breath and looked away. Firelight licked across her face, casting gold and shadow, but it didn’t hide the way she tensed—like my question had pressed on something bruised.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t tell me that damn conscience is makin’ itself known.”

  Frustration crawled up my spine. I didn’t have time for soft regrets—not now.

  Then she finally spoke, voice soft and unsure. “I don’t know what I want.”

  I stared at her. Cold. Flat. “Then figure it out. Because she knew exactly what she wanted when she handed you over.”

  The tension rose like smoke, thick and choking. She looked like the words had hit her straight in the chest. Her shoulders sagged. Her eyes stayed locked on the dirt, refusing to meet mine. And yet—some part of me hated myself for saying it, even if it was true.

  “I don’t care about any of that right now,” she said, voice trembling—but not from fear. Something deeper. “I just… want to go. Anywhere. With you.”

  That did it.

  I stood up, jaw tight enough I thought it might crack. “This ain’t that kind of world, angel,” I said. “We don’t ride off into sunsets, play house, pop out kids like the world didn’t burn. That’s a fairy tale—and I’m the monster under the bed.”

  The words hung in the air like smoke off a fresh kill.

  Her eyes shimmered in the firelight. Not crying, not yet. But close. Still, there was a kind of steel there too. She didn’t break. Not fully.

  “I know it’s not,” she said. Quiet. Strong. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t dream about it.”

  I scoffed, more bitter than I meant to be. “Dreams won’t save you when demons come knockin’. They don’t hold up when the world wants your blood.”

  She leaned forward a little, like maybe if she closed the space between us, she could shield herself from what I was saying. Or maybe from what she already knew.

  “You think I haven’t thought about this?” she asked, voice cracking around the edges. “About what it would mean to have some semblance of normalcy?”

  Each word landed hard. She wasn’t just dreaming—she was aching.

  “But this isn’t normal!” I snapped. Louder than I meant. “It’s blood. Betrayal. Darkness clawing at us every goddamn day. You’re thinking about forever when we’re just trying to survive the next hour.”

  She looked at me then—really looked—and for a second, something passed between us I didn’t have a name for. Something that scared the shit out of me.

  “So what do we do?” she asked. “Just give up?”

  “Not give up,” I said, voice low now. Controlled. But fierce. “We fight.”

  It was the only thing I knew how to do.

  And even if I wanted what she did—some distant quiet life, her hand in mine—I couldn’t let myself believe in it.

  Because dreaming got you killed out here.

  “What about you?” she asked, finally locking eyes with me.

  I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just answered flat. “What about me?”

  But I felt it—like a live wire running through the dirt between us. The tension. The weight of everything we’d said and all the things we hadn’t. It was easier when it was just survival. When we didn’t talk about dreams, about futures. When we didn’t dare.

  Her gaze didn’t waver. “What about that last bounty? The one you turned down?”

  I inhaled slow, steady. Let it burn its way out of me on the exhale. “You mean the one where I was supposed to hand you over to Lucifer?”

  She nodded once. Sharp. Controlled. But her eyes were searching mine like she was bracing for the answer to hurt.

  “Yeah,” she said. “That one.”

  I looked at her then, really looked. Her face—tired, stubborn, beautiful. The kind of face that had already crawled through hell once and was daring me to tell her it wasn’t enough.

  “I’m not giving you to him,” I said. The words came out like gravel in my throat. “I don’t care what it costs me.”

  She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the answer to be that clear. That final. Her whole expression shifted—soft confusion settling in her brow, like I’d handed her a puzzle missing its last piece.

  “So you’re just going to stay a demon forever?” she asked, quiet now. “You’re okay with that?”

  The question hit deeper than I wanted it to.

  I felt something flare inside me—dark and sharp. Fury, maybe. Or guilt. Or just the hollow ache of knowing I’d made my choice long before she ever asked the question.

  “I’m not giving you to him,” I repeated, voice low and hard, every syllable like a fist on the table. “That’s all you need to know.”

  She flinched, just a little—but didn’t back down. God, she never did.

  “But Walton,” she said, soft and trembling, “you have a chance at redemption. You could⁠—”

  “Redemption?” I cut her off. The word curdled in my mouth. My hands clenched tight at my sides before I even realized they had. “Redemption’s for people who still got somethin’ left worth saving.”

  Her breath caught like I’d struck her.

  The fire crackled between us, loud in the silence that followed. Its light flickered across her face, made her eyes shine like tears she wouldn’t shed. Not yet.

  “I don’t want your sacrifice,” she whispered.

  I opened my mouth too fast. “It’s not about what you want,” I snapped—and regretted it the second the words left. But I couldn’t take them back. Couldn’t give her softness when all I had was steel and instinct.

  “It’s all tangled up in this mess,” she said, voice barely above a breath. “And I’m not walking away from it.”

  “No.” I gripped the edge of the table, knuckles gone white. “This isn’t your fight.”

  Her eyes burned when she stepped closer. Fierce. Fiercer than I deserved. “But it is.”

  She didn’t stop until she was so close I could feel her breath on my lips. Her voice dropped, but it struck deeper than any bullet I’d ever taken.

  “Everly,” I said—quiet, controlled, barely holding onto the edge of myself.

  But it was slipping. She was slipping past every wall I’d ever built, and the worst part?

  I wanted her to.

  I saw it in her eyes—fire and fury twisted into something too big for words. A storm brimming right beneath the surface. She wasn’t just angry. She was breaking. And every breath she took, every crack in her voice, stoked the tension between us like dry kindling on an open flame.

  “Choosing damnation over salvation,” she spat, her voice shaking, barely holding itself together. “Is that really all you can see? Is it all for show?”

  My hand tightened around the edge of the blade's handle, the wood biting into my skin. I wanted to lash out, tear something apart just to bleed off the heat rising in my chest.

  “Salvation was never on the table for me,” I growled. “You think I don’t know what I am? What I’ve done? You think some holy light’s just waitin’ for me to walk into it like I earned it?”

  Her eyes flashed like lightning across an open plain, fury dancing there beside something worse—fear. “So what, then?” she demanded. “I’m just supposed to watch you burn for me?”

  Her voice cracked at the end, and damn it, that hit harder than anything else. I couldn’t stand it—the sound of her breaking over me.

  I closed the distance in a breath, grabbed her by the shoulders—not rough, but enough to anchor her. Or maybe to anchor me. My voice dropped, thick with everything I couldn’t say out loud. “I’d rather burn,” I said, “than hand you over.”

  She flinched, barely, like the weight of it hit her ribs. But I meant every word. I’d wear the fire if it kept her from ever touching it.

  Her lips parted, ready to argue, to throw more truth at me until I bled from it.

  “You don’t get it,” I snapped before she could speak. My grip tightened. “I already lost everything. My family. My goddamn soul. You think giving you up fixes that? That it buys me back anything worth havin’? It doesn’t. All it does is finish the job.”

  She stilled—just for a second—and I saw it: the way her walls wavered. The understanding flickering there before she rebuilt it out of stubbornness and heartbreak.

  “And dragging yourself deeper—” she said, voice tight, “—that’s your version of saving me?”

  “Yes!” The word tore out of me before I could stop it. Loud. Broken. Final. “Because you’re worth it. Worth more than whatever deal Lucifer thinks he can cut with me.”

  Silence dropped between us like a blade.

  She stood there, shaking, firelight flickering across her face like it couldn’t decide whether to illuminate her or worship her. And I just… stood there with her. Caught between rage and love. Caught in the wreckage of who I was and what she still believed I could be.

  I hadn’t earned her faith.

  But I’d burn for it, anyway.

  “There’s no life worth living without⁠—”

  I didn’t let her finish.

  I crashed into her with a kiss, hard and unforgiving, because it was the only way I knew how to shut her up without tearing myself in half. My mouth hit hers like a fuse catching flame—sudden, hot, desperate. Like maybe if I kissed her hard enough, I could silence the storm screaming in both our chests.

  She melted into me, no hesitation, fists grabbing onto my duster like she’d fall through the world if she let go. And maybe she would’ve. Hell, maybe I would’ve. Because right then, in that kiss, it wasn’t about saving her or damning me—it was about needing her like breath, like blood.

  Every part of me burned.

  Her warmth seeped through the cracks I’d spent years sealing shut. I felt her pulse hammering against my lips, alive and defiant, and I wanted to stay in that moment where the world couldn’t touch us. Where the only thing that mattered was the feel of her, the fire of her, the way she tasted like stubbornness and something sweeter I didn’t deserve.

  I pulled back just enough to breathe, my hands still locked around her waist, my forehead resting against hers like it was the only thing keeping me tethered.

  “Everly,” I breathed, her name spilling out of me like a prayer I didn’t know I’d been holding. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  Her eyes flared, fierce even through the uncertainty. “And you don’t understand how much I love you.”

  I swallowed hard, jaw tight.

  My voice was rough, low, cut from gravel and regret. “This ain’t about redemption, angel. Not anymore.” I reached up, let my fingers brush her cheek, slow and reverent, tracing the curve of her jaw like it might vanish if I didn’t hold it. “It’s about keeping you alive. Keeping you safe.”

  But she didn’t pull away.

  She leaned into the touch like it was something sacred. Like I was.

  “Then let me help you,” she said, soft but sharp. “Let’s face this together.”

  Those words nearly gutted me.

  Because I wasn’t sure I could drag her through the dark and still call it love. Wasn’t sure she’d still look at me the same on the other side. I wasn’t her savior—I was the fire she kept stepping into, again and again.

  Still.

  She looked at me like I was worth something. Like I could be more than this.

  “Together,” I said, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. But she believed it. And maybe that was enough.

  I grabbed her again—not rough, but sure. Pulled her in until there was no space left between us.

  And when I kissed her this time, it wasn’t to silence her.

  It was a promise.

  Whatever came next—blood, ruin, demons or damnation—we’d face it side by side.

  Together.

  Chapter 27

  Everly

  The night wrapped around us—thick, infinite. Darkness pressed in tight, broken only by the low flicker of firelight. The dying embers crackled soft and slow, like a fading heartbeat under skin. Shadows played across Walton’s face, cutting deep lines that softened in the glow. I watched him without meaning to, like if I blinked, he might vanish.

  We didn’t speak.

  The silence between us held weight—full of everything unsaid, everything we might never say. My heart thudded loud in my chest, each beat a question without an answer.

  He sat close—steady, warm. Like a wall I could lean on, if I ever let myself. I glanced sideways, pretending not to look. But I was looking. I always was.

  His eyes stayed on the fire, unreadable. Then, like he felt it—felt me—he turned. And just like that, the world narrowed. The wasteland, the danger, the endless noise of survival—it all fell away. There was only him. Only me. And this moment, taut and breathless, hanging by a thread.

  His hand brushed mine. Calloused fingers, battle-worn, skimmed over my skin with a tenderness that stopped my breath. He laced our fingers together like he’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe, in another life, he had.

  I didn’t pull away.

  I leaned in.

  His eyes found mine—dark, intense, and open in a way Walton never let anyone see. My chest tightened. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want to ruin it with words.

  Then he kissed me.

  Soft at first. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

  But he did.

  He always had.

  I kissed him back.

  The moment deepened—slow and molten. His mouth moved against mine with heat and hunger, stealing the air from my lungs. Every brush of his lips, every breath we shared, burned through fear. Through guilt. Through doubt. I folded into him, into the fire in his touch, into the arms that held me like I was something worth holding onto.

  Like letting go would break us both.

  We weren’t rushing. There was no desperation. Just this—us, moving in sync, kissing like the world wasn’t watching, like it might never get the chance again.

  And beneath the stars, beneath the ghosts and the grief and the weight of everything we’d survived, I knew.

  We weren’t broken anymore.

  We were burning.

  Together.

  I tugged at his shirt, fingers brushing warm skin beneath rough fabric. Walton’s breath caught, sharp and shallow, as I pushed him back with purpose. For once, I wasn’t waiting—I was taking. And he let me.

  A spark snapped between us—bright, fierce, demanding. I climbed into his lap, legs bracketing his hips, the solid weight of him grounding me, anchoring me in something real. The fire crackled nearby, but I didn’t feel its heat. I only felt his.