Annabella
Chapter thirty-one
“We need to stop.”
Aunt Jo’s voice from the back seat was quiet but firm. I turned to look at her. She was pale, one hand pressed to her temple, the other cradling Ellie who’d fallen asleep against her shoulder. Mom was asleep next to her.
“You okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Your mom’s tired. And Ellie needs a proper rest, not a car nap.” She managed a wan smile. “We’re not used to this much excitement anymore.”
Excitement. Right.
“There’s a motel coming up.” Uncle Fred squinted at his phone. “The Pine Rest. Website says it’s Shifter-friendly.”
I glanced at Sam.
“Your family needs rest, Moonbeam. And so do you.”
That shouldn’t have warmed me the way it did.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s stop. We could all use a break.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the Pine Rest Motel, a collection of weathered cabins scattered among actual pine trees, which I appreciated. At least they’d committed to the theme.
Aunt Jo handled getting us two cabins while Sam did a perimeter sweep. Then Uncle Fred carried Mom while I took Ellie—still sleeping—into one of the cabins, and went back to grab their bags, hyper-aware of every sound, every scent, every potential threat.
Relax. Ashridge was far behind us, and I would never have to fear anyone from there again.
A second later, Sam stepped into the cabin, shutting the door behind him. “Perimeter’s clean. Two occupied cabins on the other side of the lot, both human. No wards, no Shifter scent markers. But we’re not assuming anything. Keep the curtains closed.”
His eyes found mine. That little glance settled something low in my stomach.
Uncle Fred straightened from where he’d been tucking a blanket around Mom’s legs, the same gentle, methodical way he did everything. He wasn’t a man who drew attention to himself. Never had been. But he’d left his own children, his own Pack, and spent years looking after Mom and Ellie.
He looked between me and Sam with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “You two look like you’re running on fumes.” He settled into the chair by Mom’s bed, positioning himself with a clear sightline to both the door and the window. “Go. Get some sleep.”
“Uncle Fred, we can’t just—”
“Annabella, don’t argue. I kept your aunt alive during missions for Webster, and I kept Lucas and Tara off our backs for years. I think I can handle doing a patrol every twenty minutes.”
“I think you’ll find I kept you alive during our missions,” Aunt Jo smiled at him, then shot us a look over her shoulder. “Now shoo, both of you, we’ve got this.”
Sam smiled back. “Yes, ma’am.”
We walked out and stepped into the space between the cabins, pine needles underfoot, and evening light turning everything honey-colored.
I should have felt relaxed, but Sam kept looking at me like he was working through a puzzle.
“Okay,” I said, breaking the silence. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a terrible lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” he said. “I’m just… trying not to start another argument.”
“Witch’s fangs, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing.” I waved at him. “Where you get all weird after I do something that surprises you. Like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
He snorted. “You think I’m weird because you were impressive?”
“I was extremely impressive, but I said surprising.”
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “You were extremely impressive.”
I blinked.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair and kept going, words coming faster, like he couldn’t stop them. “Ashridge could’ve been a disaster. But you walked in there so much more powerful than anyone expected. You tore apart an Alpha, got your whole family out, and didn’t flinch once. You were—”
“Careful,” I warned. “You’re about to say something nice.”
His mouth kicked up. “Can’t have that.”
We kept walking, but the air between us had changed. Charged. My wolf pressed forward, ears up. I stayed silent, letting him figure out whatever he needed to say.
He finally looked at me fully. Direct. Intense. None of the Felix charm to soften it. “I’m recalibrating. Because every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something else that knocks me sideways.”
My chest tightened. “Sam—”
“And,” he said, and his voice had dropped to something I felt more than heard, low and rough and dragged out of him like a confession, “now that we’re alone, every single thing I’ve been keeping locked down is about thirty seconds from becoming a problem.”
“A problem?”
“You’re standing three feet from me and I can hear your heartbeat and smell your skin and there is nobody else here.
” His breathing had changed. Slower, deliberate, like he was physically holding himself in place.
“And my wolf doesn’t understand why I’m not already touching you.
He doesn’t give a shit about timing or talking or—” His jaw worked.
“All he knows is you’re right there, and you’re safe and you’re mine, and every second I’m not putting my hands on you feels like I’m being skinned alive. ”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
My heart was hammering. Something inside this thing that had been pulsing between us seemed to unlock, and what was pouring through had teeth.
Raw, blistering want layered over something almost desperate.
Images bled through that weren’t mine: his hands in my hair, my throat under his lips, the sound he’d been imagining I’d make if he—
Howling hell.
“So now you know,” he said, rough and strained. “And I’m telling you because I’d rather stand here and be honest about it than pretend I’m fine, because I’m not fine, and you deserve—”
“Sam.”
“—to have everything—”
“Sam! Stop talking.”
I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down and kissed him.
Hard. Hungry. I was done waiting.
His hands were under my thighs before I could think, lifting me like I weighed nothing.
My legs locked around his waist on instinct, arms hooking behind his neck, and the new angle put his mouth level with mine, and his body pressed between my legs and, oh Goddess, I could feel exactly how much he’d meant every word he’d just said.
We'd been moving without realising it. Or maybe I had, rolling my hips, pulling him closer, not paying attention to anything except his mouth and his hands and the heat coming off him in waves.
My back met bark. I didn't care. I tightened my legs around him and he groaned into my mouth, his hands gripping my thighs harder, fingers digging in, and then—
He wrenched back. Breathing hard. Eyes wild.
“What?” I managed, my own breathing ragged. “What’s wrong?”
“Tree,” he said. Like the word explained everything.
I stared at him. Then I looked behind me. Then back at his face.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I told you,” he said. “Our first time isn’t happening against a tree. I made a whole speech.”
“I remember. You said I deserve more than bark in my hair—”
“And pine needles in uncomfortable places. I stand by it. It was a very good speech.”
“Sam Shaw, I swear on every ancestor I have—”
He kissed me. Quick, hot, his teeth catching my lower lip just enough to make my brain short-circuit. Then he pulled back again.
“Our cabin’s sixty feet that way,” he said. “I clocked it during the perimeter check.”
Of course he had.
“You planned this,” I accused.
“I hoped for the possibility.” His thumb traced a circle on my hip, slow and deliberate, and the touch sent heat spiraling through me. “I’m a strategist. It’s what I do.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re the one who kissed me.”
“I’ll un-kiss you if you don’t move.”
His grin was sharp and wicked and so purely Sam that my stomach flipped. He put me down, grabbed my hand, and we ran through the trees.
I barely registered the cabin—double bed, basic furniture, thin curtains letting in the last of the evening light—before his mouth was on mine again.
This kiss was different; it was like he’d been unleashed. My fingers pulled at his shirt, hauling it up, needing skin. He broke away just long enough to yank it over his head and—
Fur and flames.
I’d seen him shirtless before, but this time I could put my hands on every inch of him and not pretend it was an accident.
My palms went flat against his chest, feeling the jump of his heartbeat.
I dragged my fingers down over the ridges of his stomach, the hard planes of muscle, the dip between his ribs, the taut line of his obliques.
The sharp cut of his hips disappearing into his jeans.
I traced that line with my thumb, and his breath caught, and his hips jerked forward against me.
His hands were on my shirt, pulling it up. I helped, yanking it over my head, and unhooked my bra before he could reach for it. I let it fall.
His eyes dropped to my bare chest, and his mouth stopped moving. His eyes went dark.
Good.
I stepped into him, pressing skin to skin, and his mouth dropped to my breast, no hesitation, no teasing, his lips closed over my nipple and sucked hard enough that my knees buckled.
I grabbed his hair to hold myself upright, and he made a sound against my skin that I felt in my core, his tongue working me while his hand found my other breast, thumb rolling, squeezing.
My head fell back and I heard myself moan—loud, shameless—and I didn’t care. My hips ground against him, searching for friction, and the bond between us was wide open, his hunger slamming into mine until I couldn’t tell where his want ended and mine started.
“Bed,” I gasped. “Now.”
He grinned at me. “Are you always going to be this bossy?”
“If it gets me what I want, then yes.”
His grin widened as he walked me backward, his mouth back on my breast, teeth grazing my nipple as we moved, and the scrape of it sent a bolt of heat straight between my legs.
The backs of my knees hit the mattress, and we went down together, graceless and tangled and neither of us giving a damn.
I dragged him over me, wanting his weight, his heat, all of him.