Wings of the Walker - CoraLee June Page 0,27

gonna have to stop that,” Maverick said, shocking me.

“Stop what?” I asked.

“Stop acting like you’re this inconvenience in our household,” he said with a growl. “From what I gather, Walkers are expected to be submissive and think nothing of themselves. It's bullshit.” He shrugged. “We want a community of equal people that contribute to the village while exercising their rights. It’ll be a long road, but I want you to try and consider yourself as a guest here, not a fucking slave.”

I bristled at his commentary. How could I go from spending eighteen years of my life thinking I was one thing, to considering myself to be an equal?

“I’ll try,” I muttered.

“Good,” he exclaimed with a clap. “Now, let me show you to your bedroom. Our other town leaders will be here tonight. They went out to inspect trolley.”

“So, there are six of you?” I questioned.

"Correct. We are each in charge of operations in an area that we have expertise in; we live together simply because it's more convenient."

I mused over recipes that could be filling to six adult men.

“Does anyone else live here?” I asked.

“Our sister used to, but as you’re aware, she left to live with her future husband,” Maverick said this with a hint of disgust. It was evident that Jules wasn’t the favorite amongst her family.

Maverick directed me towards a door tucked in the back corner of their home. He slowly opened it, and I sucked in a big breath, completely in awe of the room before me.

Four large windows overlooking the great expanse of trees behind their home stood on the south wall of the room. In the middle was a large king-sized, four-poster bed with a thick, white comforter. A bathroom was attached, and I was shocked to find a nice-looking tub that could comfortably fit three people. There was also a walk-in shower. It was amazing. It couldn’t possibly be for me.

I opened my mouth to exclaim that this would be way too much for a Walker, but the look on Maverick’s face and his request from earlier that still echoed in my mind, stopped me from speaking. Instead of protesting, I ran to him and gave him an appreciative hug. It was awkward, and we both stumbled at the force of it, but he accepted me with open arms and a chuckle.

“Thank you so much,” I whispered.

“I had no idea you’d like it this much. Maybe we should have Kemp build you that guest house. I wonder what kind of thanks I’d get then.”

I blushed at his teasing and continued to explore the room. After bringing me my bag, Maverick left to further investigate the locked footage from the train car.

I looked out the windows at the forest in the distance, enjoying the fresh open air. For five blissful minutes, I didn’t think about the Stonewells or Josiah; I didn’t think about the crippling fear I felt when Cyler was trembling from the wound in his leg.

All I thought about was the openness of the woods and my beautiful, new room. It was incredibly peaceful until the shrill ringing of a tablet brought me out of my daydreaming and back to reality.

I quickly found my bag and began rummaging through it to see the tablet Josiah slipped into my bag. Once I saw it, I answered the video call request.

“Hello?” I answered breathlessly. Josiah’s face appeared on the other line and a stabbing pain reverberated in my chest. He looked good. Achingly good. His strong jaw made my knees weak, but the frown on his face made me nervous. His icy eyes roamed over my face and torso, absorbing my bright dress with its low-cut top.

“I’ve been worried sick about you.” He sighed. “You look amazing.”

“I’ve only been gone a couple of days,” I whispered. Although Maverick and Cyler both said I was a free woman in their household, I didn’t think that they would appreciate finding me chatting with their sister’s future husband.

“There were rumors here that someone attacked your train. I needed to see that you were okay,” he urged.

“I’m fine. I didn’t even see the attackers. Cyler kept me safe in the first-class cabin,” I added.

“Of course he did,” Josiah muttered.

I looked Josiah over and noticed that his shirt was wrinkled, his hair crumpled. He looked sexy all disheveled. I shook my head at the thought.

Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.

“You look terrible,” I joked.

“I’ve been worried sick about you. Do you even miss me?” he asked longingly with