17. Annabella
Chapter seventeen
Annabella
Something dragged me out of sleep; not pain, though there was plenty of that.
My ribs throbbed with the steady pulse of a wound still knitting itself together, and my shoulders ached from lying too long in the same position.
But under all of it, voices. Drifting up through the floorboards from downstairs.
Thomas’s steady rumble in answer to someone’s animated chatter, punctuated by the clatter of something on the stove. Sam’s lower tones, careful and measured.
And then…laughter. High and bright and completely out of place.
I knew that laugh.
Mina.
I was upright before my ribs could lodge a formal complaint, pain flaring white-hot along my left side. I didn’t care. She was here. She was laughing. That meant she was alive, and whole, and not rotting in the Kennel.
Someone had left clothes on the chair beside the bed.
A soft gray T-shirt and dark joggers. Getting dressed took longer than it should have.
My fingers fumbled with the shirt, and pulling the joggers over my hips made every bruise along my torso light up.
But I managed, and managing felt like a victory I badly needed.
Downstairs, the voices grew sharper. Sam said something I couldn’t catch, and then Mina’s voice cut through: “OMG, these cinnamon rolls are to die for!”
I gripped the banister and took the stairs one at a time, slow enough to keep my ribs from staging a full revolt.
The scent hit me before I reached the bottom: coffee, sweet baking, and under it, the familiar layered signature of my crew.
Mina’s sharp citrus-and-metal tang, the way humans always smelled to Shifters but uniquely hers.
And Zeke’s earthy-green warmth, like fresh-turned soil and growing things, the scent that clung to him even when he hadn’t touched a plant in weeks.
And Sam. Wood smoke and chocolate with a dash of lime.
The kitchen opened up before me. Thomas stood by the counter, arms crossed, his expression neutral.
Beside him, a man moved between the stove and the counter like he was conducting an orchestra.
Sam leaned against the far doorframe, coffee in hand, and when I appeared he went very still.
I felt his attention land on me like sunlight through a window, warm and impossible to ignore.
I looked away. Deliberately. Focused on the table.
Mina sat there, blonde hair with purple tips yanked into a messy bun, gesturing emphatically at someone I didn’t recognize at first. Tall, lean, brown hair, sharp jaw. Then it clicked. Jase. Jase Miller. Sofia’s little brother. Except the kid from my aunt’s photos wasn’t a kid anymore.
Beside Mina, hunched over a steaming cup of tea like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, sat Zeke.
His lanky frame looked too big for the kitchen chair, and bruises mottled his jaw and cheekbone in watercolor shades of green and yellow.
But his eyes were clear. And when he lifted his head and saw me, his whole face changed.
“Annabella.” His voice cracked on the second syllable.
Mina’s head whipped around. Her eyes went wide, then she was out of the chair and crossing the room.
She crashed into me, arms locking around my ribs with zero regard for the fact that some of them were still broken, and I caught her on instinct, wrapping my arms around her even as my body screamed.
“You’re okay,” she gasped against my shoulder. “You’re actually okay.”
“Yeah.” My voice came out wrecked. “Yeah, I’m okay. You too.”
Zeke was there a second later, his long arms folding around both of us. His shoulders shook, and his eyes were wet, and he didn’t try to hide either.
For a long moment, we just stood there. Three survivors holding each other up. My crew. Alive.
I’d spent years learning not to need anyone.
Webster had been very clear about that. Attachment was weakness; sentiment was a weapon your enemies could use against you.
But standing there with Mina’s fingers twisted into the back of my shirt and Zeke’s chin resting on the top of my head, I couldn’t remember why I’d believed him.
“Well.” The voice came from behind the stove.
The man I didn’t know. He’d stopped his orchestral cooking and was watching us with bright eyes that had gone suspiciously glassy.
Slim, maybe five-nine, with light brown skin and dark hair combed back neatly.
Everything about him was precise: crisp shirt, trousers pressed sharp enough to cut, and bare feet.
“That’s just beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.
” He pressed a hand to his chest. “And now that we’ve confirmed everyone’s alive and accounted for, can we please sit down before someone collapses?
Thomas will have my hide if I let injured people stand around having emotional moments. ”
“I didn’t say that,” Thomas protested mildly.
“You were thinking it.”
“I was thinking about fluid intake and elevated heart rates, actually.”
“Same thing.” Wally flapped a hand toward the table. “Sit. All of you. Food’s almost ready.”
I caught Sam’s eye across the kitchen. He was trying not to smile, and failing.
Mina swiped the tears from her eyes. “You look horrible,” she informed me.
“You’re one to talk.” I took in her bandaged wrists, the shadows carved deep under her eyes, the way she held her left arm close to her body.
Zeke helped me into a chair—witch’s fangs, I hated needing the assist—and we settled around the table. Sam stayed where he was by the doorframe, close enough to hear everything, far enough to make it clear this was our moment.
Jase had moved to lean against the counter next to Thomas, watching us with quiet, assessing eyes. He hadn’t said a word so far. Just watched. And now that I was looking at him properly, my chest did something complicated.
He had the Miller jaw. Aunt Jo’s jaw. And the freckles—faded now, scattered across his nose and cheekbones instead of covering his whole face, the way they had when he was four years old and trailing after Sofia and me through Aunt Jo’s garden, trying to keep up on stubby legs while we built dens out of blankets.
He’d been so small. Always wanting to be included. Always getting told he was too little.
He wasn’t too little anymore.
“You grew up,” I said.
“So did you.”
Neither of us moved. Sofia would have closed the distance. Sofia had closed the distance, had blown into my room like a red-haired tornado. But Jase and I weren’t Sofia. We were always the quieter ones, the ones who hung back, who watched and calculated first.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head once, and for a second, he looked so much like Sofia that it startled me. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Wally appeared at the table with a platter of cinnamon rolls, the scent alone enough to make my stomach twist with hunger despite everything. “Fresh batch and warm. Eat up before Thomas starts his nutrition lecture.”
“I was only going to suggest something lighter,” Thomas said.
“Sugar is healing.” Wally set the platter down with a flourish. “It heals the soul, and the soul is connected to the body; therefore it’s medicinal.”
“That’s not how medicine works.”
“It’s how my medicine works.”
“I should head out. Carlito wants me at the office.” Jase pushed off the counter, then hesitated.
For a second I thought he might hug me. Instead, he squeezed my shoulder as he passed, brief and firm, his hand warm through the T-shirt.
“You’re all welcome in Three Rivers. Anything you need, just ask. ”
“Jase is right,” Sam said from the doorframe, his voice quiet but clear. “You’re all welcome here. For as long as you need.”
Something moved behind his eyes. Quick, there and gone, like a shadow passing behind glass. I filed it away without knowing what to do with it.
“What about Duke and Lydia?” Zeke asked, his voice careful in the way it got when he was raising something he knew would hurt. “Any news?”
My jaw tightened. “Not since they ran in the middle of a fight and left us to be taken.”
Nobody spoke for a moment. I could feel Mina thinking it, the same ugly irony I’d been chewing on since Adarcan.
Duke, whom I’d trusted to have my back in any fight.
Lydia, who’d been part of our team for over a year.
They’d run. And Sam—a Council member, someone who should have been my enemy—had put everything on the line to break us out.
How’s that for twisted magic?
“They made their choice,” I said. “We’ll deal with them later. Right now, we focus on healing.”
“And then what?” Mina set down the cinnamon roll and leaned forward. “What’s the plan? Because I don’t know who to trust anymore. I don’t know where to go. But I know one thing: I want to bring down the Council. I want them to pay for what they did to us in that place.”
“Me too.” And howling hell, I meant it. “But we can’t do anything yet. We need time to heal.”
Mina studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But I need a computer. And boots.”
“I can arrange the computer,” Sam said. “The boots might take a day or two.”
“Platform boots,” Mina specified, in a tone that left zero room for negotiation. “Black. Ridiculously high. And the computer needs to be clean. No tracking software, no backdoors, nothing that’ll ping anyone about what I’m doing. I’ll know, Sam. So don’t fuck with me on this.”
His mouth twitched. “Noted.”
Sam looked at Zeke. “What about you? Need anything?”
Zeke was quiet for a moment, staring into his tea like he was reading leaves. “My parents are dead,” he said. “I don’t have another coven. This crew was—” He stopped. Swallowed. “This crew was all I had.”
“You still have us,” I said it fierce and fast. “You have me and Mina. And I know it’s not the same, but—”
“It’s enough.” His smile was small, but it held. “For now, it’s enough.”
The back door banged open and brought the outside in with it, the distant green scent of the forest that surrounded Three Rivers.