Wings of the Walker: The Complete Walker Series

by Coralee June

  “Smells delicious. I could get used to someone else doing all the cooking,” I joked, trying to follow Patrick’s lead and lighten the mood. Maverick’s eyes snapped to mine.

  “Oh dang. I didn’t think this through at all.” He scratched his neck. “I should have made something disgusting, so I wouldn’t have to cook ever again.” He threw a look of terror towards the others, causing loud laughter to echo throughout the room.

  “You and I both know that I won't let anyone else do the cooking. Especially since I’m here to simply ‘manage the household, ’” I scolded, hoping that someone would provide a sliver of reassurance that me being hired help wasn’t the only reason the guys let me stay around.

  “Does our little Ash need to hear how much we appreciate her?” Patrick cooed while walking over and ruffling my hair. He then sat down at the large kitchen table and leaned back in the wooden chair while scooting his hips forward. I watched his shirt ride up and swallowed.

  “Would you feel better if I gave you a spot on the leadership council? What’s a good title you could have?” Cyler mused. He had resumed tying the strings together to make a streamer, but it looked more like a tangled mass of yarn.

  “Chief Officer of Chocolate Cakes?” Kemper suggested while icing his own sad attempt at dessert. Uncooked batter oozed over the sides of the pan and mixed with the watery icing. My fingers itched to take over.

  “How about Captain of Walker Relations?” Maverick offered. He seemed to take Cyler’s suggestion seriously as he sprinkled shredded cheese over the top of his dish in meticulous and equal proportions. I half expected him to get out a ruler to make sure there was no section of the dinner with more cheese than another.

  “I don’t need a spot on the leadership council. I just need . . .” I paused searching for the words that accompanied my feelings. When I first moved to Dormas, I was content being hired help. I reveled in it. But now? Now I wanted to know that I meant more to them. “I need to feel like you like having me here.”

  Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing to stare at me. The earlier playfulness seemed to dissolve into my ridiculous statement, and I wanted nothing more than to travel back in time and swallow my words.

  “JULES!!” Cyler bellowed causing my eyes to widen. I felt a growing panic of self-consciousness consume me. Soon, high heels clacked angrily across the wooden floor until Jules entered the kitchen. She was still scowling, and her hair was all out of place. She looked wild. Feral.

  “What the hell do you want now?!” she asked while clutching a broken lamp.

  “I just wanted to add, in case there is any confusion, Ashleigh is allowed to stay here ‘cause we like her.” He waved his muscular arm nonchalantly. “That is all.”

  Jules puffed out her chest and shrilled, “ASSHOLE!” while walking away. I openly gaped at Cyler. Was that seriously necessary ?

  “Better, babe?” he asked with a smirk. I shook my head and slumped in embarrassment. They were always pushing me to vocalize my wants and needs. In his own weird way, Cyler was rewarding me for saying what I wanted. I just wished I would have thought before speaking.

  An unalterable promise hovered in the air. One that showed how tightly knit we had become. For the past month, I've felt like I was lingering on the line of uncertainty with Jules' presence. Cyler's unwavering decision regarding Jules’ place here and her punishment not only solidified Jacob’s position, but mine, too. For the first time since my abduction, I didn't feel like I had to hide.

  Dinner was a pleasant affair. The Ethros dish Maverick prepared was heavenly, and I was politely urged by Jacob to stop moaning after every bite. Apparently, I had a bad habit of making too much noise when good food was involved. We all declined dessert, despite a hopeful Kemper and the saddest looking cake I’ve ever seen. He looked at me in dawning dismay, and I briefly wondered if Kemper was ever bad at anything or if this was his first failure.

  Patrick clapped his hands, “It’s time for presents!" he said while shuffling in through the kitchen door with a grin. He pulled out a small wooden box. "I’d like to add that finding thoughtful gifts last minute is damn near impossible; you're lucky the people of Dormas love us.” He handed me the gift. I peered around the table and saw that each of them wore various looks of uncertainty, nervousness, and eagerness.

  For reasons unknown to me, my reaction to this gift was important to them. I never had the full attention of a room before, and my skin felt hot under their intense stares. The wooden box opened, and I sucked in a deep breath, amazed at the beautiful treasure tucked inside.

  It was a golden bracelet wrapped in six different colored raw gems with an inscription on the inside .

  Σπίτι μου είναι όπου είμαι μαζί σου

  “It’s beautiful, what does it mean?” I asked in a shaky voice. This gift was not only thoughtful, but incredibly intimate.

  “‘Home is wherever you are,’” Jacob answered in a smoky voice. The truth of his statement hit me like a rock, and a silent tear rolled down my cheek. I’ve never felt more at home than here in Dormas. Here with them.

  “It's in the Dormas native tongue. Our parents spoke it,” Maverick added matter-of-factly.

  “They loved to use it when talking about something they didn’t want us to hear,” Patrick added with a snicker.

  “There are only a handful of Elders left that speak it now. Lois is the one that translated it for us,” Maverick added in a sad tone. Once again, I was reminded of all Dormas had lost, and the sincerity of their gift deepened. They were once again inviting me into their past and allowing me to bury myself deep in life here in Dormas. I wiped away an escaped tear and looked around the room. How did I get so lucky?

  “I picked the gems,” Huxley added with a gruff voice that masked his emotion. I looked down at my bracelet wrapped in navy blue, coral, and black stones, and I saw the sincerity of his choices. Each color represented a part of me and a part of my life here.

  The bracelet was quite possibly the most thoughtful and kindest gift I’ve ever received. I wondered how the guys could have coordinated such a beautiful treasure in such a short amount of time. I immediately slipped it onto my wrist then sprang from my seat, eager to hug everyone. Huxley was closest, and I slammed into him with so much force that he almost fell over.

  “Don’t kill me over a bracelet.” He coughed while fighting a smile. He glared at the others, daring them to comment on our embrace, but I ignored his failed attempt to seem uncaring.

  “Thank you,” I whispered while nuzzling into him. With exploratory arms, he hugged me back, and his hands drifted to my lower back. I felt such peace and contentment in his embrace. Despite his reluctance, I knew that he had grown to care for me. He lightly lingered until finally pushing me away with a frown and a shake of his head. The moment was gone, and I wondered when he would allow himself to break down his barriers again.

  The rest of them took their turns hugging me and inspecting the bracelet upon my wrist. I loved the feel of each of them holding my hand; some scrutinized for much longer than necessary, as if prolonging our contact. But none of them lingered quite like Huxley did. He was acting curious, and I wondered what his sudden transformation meant.

  Was I no longer a threat? Or was there something else brewing between us? Between all of us. Something that I wasn’t ready to admit to myself, let alone to all of them.

  I tried to clean up the mess they made in the kitchen, but I was ushered out and scolded by Patrick. We gathered in the backyard where Kemper had set up a fire pit surrounded by some of his hand-crafted wooden chairs. The atmosphere briefly reminded me of the Summer Solstice celebration but this was much quainter and less intense. I settled into a chair around the pit, and Patrick turned on some music with a soft guitar and light beat.

  "I've saved the day!" Cyler exclaimed while walking out with a platter full of strawberries. "Since you didn't get your birthday cake," he continued while rolling his eyes at an embarrassed Ke
mper. "I know how much you love strawberries, and I grabbed some from Lois."

  I remembered the last time I ate strawberries, and how Cyler's confident fingers placed a juicy one covered in chocolate on my tongue. A part of me wished that he would hand feed me again. Would he lick the juices from the corner of my mouth?

  I threw my hand over my chest at those fleeting thoughts and widened my eyes in embarrassment. Cyler peered at me with knowing eyes, as if he, too, was remembering our time in the Stonewell kitchen and how intense things already were between us. He kneeled at my side and handed me a plate.

  After waiting until everyone was distracted with one of Jacob's long-winded stories, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "Would you like for me to feed you again, babe?" I gulped, causing Cyler to grin and bite his lip.

  Feeling pleased with my reaction to him, Cyler left the plate and went back to the others. Kemper walked behind me and began massaging my shoulders while I slowly indulged in the strawberries.

  "I'm sorry I ruined your cake, Ash. I promise I’ll make it up to you," Kemper said with a sigh. I realized he was more upset than he previously let on.

  "Kemper, nothing about tonight is ruined. Tonight is perfect," I said as his nimble fingers worked the knots on my shoulders. I reached up and grabbed his hand, then slightly squeezed. Kemper froze at my touch, and I felt his earlier anxiety disappear under our contact. I couldn't remember a time that I was so treasured and pampered.

  Everyone joked, and I observed them openly. I watched how they interacted with one another and how they wholly accepted me into their group. It was jarring to consider who I was just months ago and who I am now. It was in that moment that decided I would do whatever it took to keep my new life here in Dormas. Here with these kind and thoughtful men that chiseled their way into my heart.

  Chapter Seven

  My bedroom was utterly ruined thanks to Jules’ destructive departure. Stained and torn bed sheets covered the mattress. The beautiful windows were covered and smudged with makeup and marks made from coal. Shattered glass littered the floor, and a few of my belongings were ripped and shredded. All my clothes were missing, aside from a few paint-splattered dresses.

  Cyler cursed when he saw the mess, but with a swipe of his tablet he bought me an entirely new wardrobe from the most exquisite shop in Galla. I asked him about new bedding, but he slyly insisted that I could just use one of their beds, and he would order bedding another day.

  After a chorus of playful arguing and a few arm wrestling contests, I ended up sleeping in Patrick’s bed. Unlike the night before with Cyler, I felt embarrassed and nervous to sleep near Patrick. When he slipped off the thin material of his t-shirt and let it fall to the floor, I practically melted.

  His green eyes had a playful sparkle in them as he looked at me from the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth. He ran a handful of water through his short brown hair, and droplets trickled down his face. Once he was done, he made his way over to me and slipped under the frost-colored covers after turning off the lamplight. I sent up a whisper of thanks for the dark which concealed my blush and the look of longing on my face.

  “Did you have a good birthday, Ash?” Patrick whispered into the darkness as I turned away from him. The electric tension between us charged the air with static making it feel heavy.

  “It was perfect. It was my first true birthday party, aside from my mini rendezvous with Josiah.”

  Patrick stilled, and only the sounds of his deep breaths could be heard throughout his room. I instantly regretted mentioning Josiah. I was always ruining these moments.

  “It's okay to talk about him,” he ambivalently assured. “I’m actually thankful for the bastard. He might be a deranged, bratty psycho, but he showed you kindness in Galla. Without him, I might not have had the chance to meet you.” It was dark throughout the room, but I imagined Patrick forcing a smile. He was always the one trying to make me feel better. Patrick perpetually looked for the positive in a situation.

  “Thank you for my bracelet,” I whispered, feeling desperate to change the subject.

  “It was Huxley’s idea, you know.” I sensed that there was more he wanted to say as he shifted to get comfortable. “Don’t hurt him, Ash,” Patrick finally said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he began slowly, “I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve never seen him fight so hard against something. I’ve never seen him be thoughtful or happy , even,” Patrick rushed out, and I wondered if we were talking about the same person.

  “Huxley is–” I began.

  “Huxley is challenging. He’s moody and a pain in the ass. All my life, I just wanted him to be happy. I’d give him anything, except . . .,” Patrick trailed off.

  “Except what?” I prodded .

  “Except lately I’m feeling particularly selfish, which means I’m going to have to leave it up to you to not do the hurting, because at this point, it’s inevitable that I’m going to,” Patrick replied cryptically.

  I wondered about Patrick and Huxley’s relationship and how draining it must be to feel so responsible for one another. That sort of anguish and misguided intent was a breeding ground for resentment. I just didn’t know how to fix it for them, or even if I could. I was already struggling with my attraction to each of the guys. If what Patrick said was true, that Hux had changed since meeting me, was I going to put a deeper wedge between them?

  “Lately I just feel so wrong, Patrick,” I said. Patrick’s firm hand landed on my shoulder and gently pulled me until we were facing one another. His hot minty breath hit my face, and every nerve ending in my body went wild with sensitivity. The cold sheets on his bed suddenly felt heavy, and I squirmed under the weight of his proximity.

  “What feels wrong, Ash?” he asked quietly, and I heard the hint of a tremor in his voice. I didn’t want them to think it was them that was wrong. It was me. My wants. My conflicting thoughts. My desires.

  “When I first arrived in Dormas, I was so in love with Josiah. My feelings for him eclipsed everything,” I began while briefly remembering the lovesick Walker from Galla with disdain. “But now, I’m not sure. I’m feeling conflicted. I still have affection for Josiah—he’s been in my life for as long as I can remember—but for the first time, I love myself more." My words felt rushed and heavy on my tongue. “And I know I'm supposed to be like a sister to you all, but I'm struggling to make my heart commit to that sort of relationship. This doesn't feel sisterly. I can’t stand feeling like I’m going to ruin everything.” Admitting the troubled thoughts that had plagued me made my voice shake at the truth of them.

  There was a time that I thought loving someone from afar would be enough. I was comfortable knowing that I would never be good enough for Josiah. It was a mentality ingrained in me by my birthright. I took every last scrap of happiness thrown my way and was thankful for it.

  But now? I wanted it all. I wanted to claim my life for my own. I didn’t want to settle for lingering looks in the hallway or secretive touches that left me wanting more. I craved blatant love. I wanted to feel treasured.

  Patrick remained quiet but snaked his hand around my hips. His feather-light fingertips slipped under my cotton shirt so that his heated touch caressed my bare skin.

  “I think we all gave up on viewing you as a sister a while ago," Patrick began. His leg surged forward and tangled between mine. "Does this feel wrong, Ashleigh?” His voice was a husky whisper.

  I gulped.

  “N—no,” I replied.

  He then inched closer to me and forced our foreheads to touch. The ghost of his eyelashes danced across mine. “How about this?”

  Yes, I thought. “No,” I whispered. My voice shook with tension. Patrick was so close yet so far. He then moved so that his lips lingered on mine. I could feel each breath he took.

  “Does this feel wrong to you, Ashleigh?” he asked slowly, and I felt each word move against my lips in a seductive dance. I ached to lean closer, to clo
se the last millimeter between us, to feel his lips on mine. I felt tension worming sharp little fingers under my skin and pooling in the bottom of my stomach.

  “No,” I replied, my voice barely audible. Patrick pulled back in an achingly slow manner, as if each inch between us caused him pain. Despite the distance, he still kept his hand firmly on my hip.

  “Don’t confuse wrong with unsure , Ash,” he said in a tense voice. “We’ve been fighting this since the moment you slammed open those train doors and turned our world upside down.” He placed his other hand against my collarbone, and his fingers gently curled around my shoulder. It was a slightly possessive gesture that made my heart increase in tempo.

  “I’m going to fix this, I promise you. You should never feel guilty for what you want. We want you to have freedom in all things. This . . .," Patrick began while pointing his finger and gesturing between us, “changed when Josiah abducted you. I don’t think anyone is willing to give you up now, and I promise you that this isn't one-sided.”

  A loud knock shocked the two of us out of our intimate embrace, and we frantically worked to detangle ourselves. But, we didn’t move fast enough to prevent our intruder from seeing our nearness and my flushed face.

  Light flooded Patrick's room, and I glanced up to see a very distraught Maverick in the doorway. His dark eyes briefly grazed over my dazed appearance and ruffled clothes. I noted the hint of a wince on his face before he dropped into a stark mask of indifference. Shaking his head, he straightened and addressed us.

  “The Galla Guards have escaped. It’s not safe for Ash to stay here alone,” he said in an urgent tone. I quickly shuffled out of bed and grabbed my boots. After slipping them on, I threw a grey knit sweater over my thin, white nightgown.

  Patrick was much slower to get out of bed but still moved with equal shock. I averted my eyes from his half-dressed frame and flexed muscles. I felt too much shame to eye the proof of what we were doing just moments before. With Maverick’s wince still fresh in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel like Patrick was wrong; I couldn't have freedom in all things. My actions and impulses had consequences.