Page 31 of Claim Me

“She will,” Nox agrees without flinching.

“I hope you’re both right,” I say, incapable of either agreeing or disagreeing. “Just… try to make her comfortable. Like you’ve always done, I guess. I don’t know what else to do for her.”

“You’re doing what you can,” Bane tells me. “We all are. But I suppose Nolan’s right—the only one who can control her fate is Fallon herself. Either she pulls through or she doesn’t. Only time will tell.”

“Time,” I muse, eyeing my empty glass on the table. It feels like a bad omen.

Here I am, nearly two thousand years old, with all the time in the world at my fingertips while Fallon may only have three days. It hardly seems fair.

But that’s life—perpetually filled with unjust trials and wavering obstacles. It’s how we handle those occurrences that matter most, as they define who we are.

For Fallon’s sake, I hope Bane and Nox are right—that she’s a true survivor.

One who will pull through the darkness ahead, find light at the end of the tunnel, and thrive.

She deserves better. It doesn’t matter that she’s harboring secrets or giving me half-truths. I can tell she’s a good person beneath her snarky exterior. She’s simply distrusting. And given everything she’s been through, I can’t blame her.

Alas, I can’t help her either.

Not in this life, anyway.

Bane slips off the couch and walks over to snag the bourbon. When he returns, he tops off his glass, then refills mine and Nox’s, and sets the bottle down. “I think we should toast in her honor.”

Seems like a strange thing to do, but I pick up my glass regardless. “Can’t hurt anything,” I decide aloud.

Nox lifts his drink in the air. “To Fallon.”

“She’s been through hell,” Bane murmurs. “Let’s hope Klas’s execution frees her soul and allows her to flourish in life.”

I nod and add, “To new experiences and second chances.”

“Hear, hear,” the two phantoms murmur.

Then we clink our glasses.

And drink to the future.

If only this could be enough to save her…

CHAPTERSEVEN

NOLAN

I standon Kaspian’s balcony, listening to the rest of their conversation and the toasts that follow. I don’t have a glass of my own, but I feel my hand rising in the air in solidarity with them.

A pointless gesture.

But it feels right.

To Fallon,I echo as the night breeze ruffles my feathers.I really hope you’re as strong as I think you are.

My eyes fall closed for a long moment, my heart threatening to bleed.

I’ve taken countless lives over my very long existence. Most of them deserved their fates. A few didn’t. However, my role remains unaltered.

I’m a warrior.

An archangel.