Page 15

Eden

People are like teacups.

They break easily.

Bristlebrook looks fearsome.

The red-gold sunset burns over the cliffs and lights up the slow-healing apple tree in a fairy-tale glow, but the civilians are primed for reality, armed and on alert.

They’re settled behind reinforced metal walls built up on towering wooden platforms, their rifles peeking through careful openings.

Bows and guns in hand, they peer watchfully out of tattered and shattered second-story windows.

All of them in position, ready and tightly coordinated.

There’s an enormous platform built up beside the apple tree, and as the fading sunset shifts, the huge hunk of scrap metal atop it begins to shine with blinding light.

The dry moat that was half finished when we left is now complete, and a barbed wire fence curls around the inner rim like wicked briars protecting a den of deadly sleeping beauties.

Hundreds of lethally sharpened pikes at the moat’s base dare us to approach.

It’s too wide to jump. Too densely packed to try to traverse.

The burned-out husk of the barn has been cleared away, and there are rows and rows of freshly turned earth where my garden has expanded fourfold, all carefully protected.

Jayk has been busy since we left.

He signals to the civilians, and it takes eight women to lift a heavy wooden bridge and maneuver it into place over the center of the moat. Two more bridges lie stacked nearby, untouched, though there are two other openings in the barbed wire where they could be placed.

We cross it carefully, silently, but mutters spring up like susurrant leaves as the civilians assess the Reapers. As they assess us .

“Who are the cowboys?”

“Did they set off the tripwire?

“Weren’t they supposed to bring back more people?”

“Remember Cassie? Do you think the Sinners still have her?”

“Forget the Sinners—where is the food ?”

“Where’s Madison?”

My steps get heavier with each question, but that name cuts into me with dagger sharpness.

We failed her. We left her behind.

I betrayed her.

Swallowing down the shame that won’t help me right now, I flick my eyes over the huddled Reapers as they creep over the singed grass in front of the looming mansion.

They’re tense, some of their posturing falling away as they take in the fortifications and the distrustful, gaunt faces staring back at them.

Their mutters reach me too.

“What on God’s green happened here?”

“Explosives? Look at the windows.”

“Look at the pikes! They could skewer a man right through!”

I’m not sure what to make of these strangers.

I’m not sure why just four men would walk into potential enemy territory and still have the confidence to pick a fight with their leader. I’m not sure how to feel about the naked longing in their eyes when they looked at me or the other women.

But apart from the obvious discomfort, there was something in their expressions that reminds me of the breathless, immediate kinship I felt when I first saw Akira and Heather. That sense of something precious not having been lost after all.

There’s a danger in that rarity... but perhaps an opportunity as well?

They could have fired on me for that stupid, silly mistake with the gun. In that situation, it would have been understandable. Defensive, even. Sam would have beaten me to a pulp.

But they didn’t.

They smiled and rushed to reassure me and all but patted me on my little head like I was a stray puppy. It’s infantilizing, butI don’t think they want to make me into a skin suit, at least. Or lock me in a dungeon and beat me into compliance.

So in apocalyptic terms, they seem quite lovely.

But can they be true allies? Are they like Beau, sweetly chivalrous and just a little rough around the edges, or will their fascination with me and the others sour if we don’t play nice? Do they want to get to know the women here as people and potential partners... or do they want possessions?

I look around at the chilly, determined faces of the gathered women—women like me, who have kept themselves alive for years.

They don’t belong to anyone.

“You sure you want to do this out here?” Dom asks Jayk in a low voice. “Might be better not to do this in front of the civs.”

Dozens of cold faces stare at us from every angle, but Jayk shakes his head. “They’re part of this. I’m not hiding shit from them. They deserve to know what’s going on.”

Dom gives Jayk a thoughtful, sideways look, then nods once.

Deanna rushes out of the wide, taped-up sliding doors and runs up to Beau.

The primary care physician is lovely, with braided gray-peppered hair and a deep brown face that creases with concern as she examines Jennifer, who is white to her lips.

Beau mutters something to Deanna, and they both hurry up the stairs into the house.

Sawyer runs a fretful hand over his moustache, watching them go. “She is going to be all right, isn’t she?”

Jayk’s snort beside him is derisive. “The fuck do you care? You shoot someone, you’re going to fuck them up.”

The big-eared man with the mildly pornographic corn hat throws him a defensive look. “You blew us up first!”

“Tripwire.” Jayk flicks his knife, shrugging. “You blew yourself up.”

He breaks away from the Reapers, and rather than head inside, he walks toward a low stage beside the apple tree. As he climbs the steps, the light shifts again, and I realize this stage and the large shining object atop it aren’t part of their defenses.

I stare, dumbfounded, and the others pause beside me.

“No fucking way.” Lucky barely keeps his voice down in his excitement, and his anxious cheeks have rediscovered how to dimple. He laughs, tugging my shirt. “Is that really?—”

“A throne ?” Jasper says from my other side, sounding utterly aghast.

It . . . is a throne.

Built from welded scrap metal and old tin cans, it’s deep and wide and shockingly imposing. The bright silvers catch the sunlight and the dusky ripples of old metal make a rippling patchwork of shadows. It’s rough—and surprisingly beautiful.

Jayk turns at the top of the stage, looking down over everyone, the apple tree looming behind him.

Then he sits on the throne.

Lucky steps forward, entranced. “I want one.”

Jasper grimaces. “I’m scheduling him another session.”

On Jasper’s other side, Dom shakes his head and follows Jayk up.

He stands behind the throne at Jaykob’s right shoulder, crossing his arms. The two of them are striking.

Lit from behind and almost terrifying in this brutal, fortified field, they look like old warriors fresh from a reaving.

Tried and hardened and ready for violence.

The small hairs along my arms tingle awake.

The Reapers stare up at them, their teasing smiles gone. This isn’t a subtle power play, a dance of words like my waltz with Alastair. This is a blunt, shameless warning from a king.

I hesitate, not sure how I fit into this picture.

Lucky doesn’t have the same problem. He drags me forward until we’re climbing the stage’s steps too, and he takes Jayk’s other side. I move to stand next to him, but someone grabs the back of my shirt and yanks.

“Ah!”

My legs drop out from under me as I flop gracelessly backward, my butt landing heavily in Jayk’s lap.

Oh, son of a . . .

I clutch at his tank, trying to right myself, and he just throws a possessive arm around me, not bothering to help. So, I don’t bother to stop my elbows from finding his stomach as I drag myself into a sensible position.

I catch Dom’s golden eyes over the edge of the throne, and he gives me a brief, searching look before his gaze cuts away to scan the crowd.

Jayk lifts his free hand, halting Jasper as he climbs the steps. “Don’t bother. Go make us all some tea.”

Jasper’s head tilts, and shadows pool along the sharp angles of his face. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tea. For our guests. Go make some.” The smirk on Jayk’s face is insufferable, and I hate that even a part of me finds it delicious.

I try to slip off his lap so I can help Jasper, but his hold on me tightens, his hand gripping my thigh.

My body springs to life. The hold, his wild, windswept scent, the raw closeness of him: it’s all more than I’d been prepared for.

I’d braced myself for the worst. Arguably, walking into a firefight instead of a welcome party is the worst. But in another way entirely, Jayk holding me to him like he never wants to let me go.

.. well, it’s not the worst. Not even close.

Jasper doesn’t appear to agree.

His lips are a violent slash, and he doesn’t move for a long, pointed moment. Then he pivots and walks to the lodge, but the final look he gives Jaykob promises ice-cold blades and unholy retribution.

“You’re in trouble,” Lucky sing-songs under his breath.

Jayk relaxes back in the throne, spreading his legs wide. I’m left dandling on his knee while he feels me up like a medieval bar wench, and I try not to mirror Jasper’s glare at him.

“You said you wanted to deal, Sawyer, so spit it out. What do you want?” he drawls.

Sawyer stares up at him, grim now. He looks to Cole, the one with the devilish smile, who shrugs one shoulder.

Sawyer runs a hand over his head. “How do you like living out here?”

That distracts me from Jayk.

That question is as locked and loaded as Lucky’s bazooka.

Jayk rolls his eyes, but his thigh becomes steel under me. “It’s home sweet home.”

“Yeah?” Sawyer hooks his thumbs into his belt loops as he frowns at the fortifications. “How homey is it gonna be come winter? You got the stores to feed—” He shoots a questioning look at Cole, who tears his eyes from the house. “Seventy? At least seventy.”

Ninety-two, actually—or eighty-nine now, without Akira, Aaron, and Heather.

Sawyer nods. “You got the stores to feed seventy through winter?”