59. Annabella
Chapter fifty-nine
Annabella
The town moved around us as Sam and I walked back to the Shaw House, Shifters checking positions, an ex-Council member adjusting ward anchors near the high school, humans loading supplies into a truck marked for the medical station.
The Bottley had become the headquarters for this next adventure; Sofia’s bar was now a war room. Ryan, Mai, and Derek were already there.
Gideon was at the checkpoint near the eastern approach, phone pressed to his ear.
Zeke stood with two witches near the ward line, the scent of healing herbs clinging to him even from here.
And Talia—crossing the lawn between the enforcers’ building and the Alpha Compound, a stack of files under one arm and two enforcers trailing her.
For a moment, I felt the weight of what we’d all witnessed together.
Kidnapping, memory wipes, weaponized loyalty.
Systems rotting from the inside while the people running them convinced themselves they were holding civilization together.
This had started with my crew against the Council.
I never could have imagined we’d all end up here, working on the same team.
“You’re doing the thing,” Sam said.
“What thing?”
“The silver streak thing.” He nodded at my hand. I looked down. My fingers were working the streak in my braid without me noticing. “You only do that when you’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling. I’m thinking.”
“Ah. That’s infinitely more dangerous.”
We’d buried the dead yesterday. A quiet ceremony at the tree-line, wolves and witches standing together over freshly turned earth.
Amara hadn’t spoken a word during it. Hadn’t spoken much since.
Jase hovered near her like he was afraid she’d shatter if he looked away, and Wally kept making her plates of food she didn’t touch.
Thomas had insisted on attending the burial despite Wally’s protests that he wasn’t healed enough to stand for that long.
He wasn’t. But Thomas had treated most of the people we’d lost, and he wasn’t going to let his injuries stop him from saying goodbye.
Wally had stood behind him the whole time, one hand on the small of his back, ready to catch him.
Ellie was in Bridgetown. Safe. I held on tight to that. Victoria, Oakley, and Ben had gone with her in yesterday’s evacuation—the kids, the elderly, anyone who couldn’t fight.
“Mason checked in an hour ago,” Sam said, like he’d read my mind. Or felt the spike of worry through the bond. “Ellie’s fine. Driving everyone in Bridgetown nuts, apparently. She’s teaching the other kids some game involving pinecones and elaborate rules that nobody understands.”
That sounded like Ellie. My chest loosened a fraction.
My mother was in Bridgetown too, with Aunt Jo and Uncle Fred.
A handful of elderly witches had arrived yesterday.
Too old for battle, but they’d come anyway to help where they could.
I’d asked them to run tests, to examine my mother, to try to unpick whatever Simon had done to her.
The thought of strangers poking at her made my stomach twist, but Aunt Jo had assured me they were gentle.
Thorough. And furious on my mother’s behalf, which counted for something.
Simon was in Bridgetown too. Under guard. We couldn’t spare a single body here to watch him. Every wolf, every witch, every human who could hold a weapon was needed for what was coming.
The Shaw house looked the same as the first time I’d seen it.
It hadn’t been hit, though the Alpha House next door was still a wreck.
Derek’s truck was gone. Sofia’s car too.
They were at the Bottley with Ryan and Mai, coordinating the last of the preparations.
We’d been working in shifts, and Derek and Sofia were just starting theirs.
Probably wouldn’t be back until morning.
Sam paused at the bottom of the porch steps. Turned to look at me.
The last of the daylight caught him; the line of his jaw, the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders, a faded bruise along his forearm.
My wolf noticed. My wolf always noticed.
Tomorrow we’d stand on a battlefield and hope the plan held.
Tomorrow there’d be blood and magic and decisions made in fractions of seconds that couldn’t be taken back.
And one or both of us might not walk away from it.
But right now, Sam Shaw was standing in the fading light looking at me like I was the only thing in Three Rivers worth looking at, and I was so tired of bracing for loss that I’d forgotten what it felt like to reach for something instead.
I walked past him and opened the front door.
Inside, the familiar smell of the place wrapped around me, coffee and fresh bread and something underneath that was just Shaw. Sam turned to me. “You should rest.”
“So should you.”
That ghost of the Felix grin. “Probably.”
I crossed to the window. The stone fireplace threw warmth across my back. Outside, everything was quieting as darkness crept in. Fewer people moving, the occasional low howl of a wolf on patrol.
“I’m not afraid of dying.”
I felt him go still behind me.
“I’ve been ready to die for a long time. Since before Adarcan.” I pressed my fingertips against the glass. “I’d made peace with it.”
My reflection stared back: dark hair, silver streak, sharp jaw. A woman I was still getting used to.
“But I’m afraid of losing this.” I turned to face him. “Afraid of walking into tomorrow without knowing who we could have been. If we’d had time.”
Sam stepped toward me. “I spent years being exactly what the Council needed. No past worth thinking about. No future worth imagining. Just the mission in front of me and the mission after that.” His voice was quiet.
“I was good at it. Too good. Forgot I used to be someone who laughed at stupid jokes and gave my brothers shit and wanted things for myself.”
He took a breath.
“Then I met you. And the whole thing fell apart.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“It’s the best one I’ve got.” The grin surfaced. Real, warm, Sam and Felix merged into the man standing in front of me. “You wrecked my cover, my career, and my ability to pretend I didn’t want more. So yeah. Thanks for that.”
I almost laughed. Almost. But the feeling underneath was too big, pressing up against my ribs.
“I can’t promise we’ll survive tomorrow.” Sam closed the distance between us. “But I need you to hear something before we walk into that fight.”
His hand came up. Cupped my jaw. Fingers warm and rough against my skin, his thumb resting at the corner of my mouth.
“I carried you out of Adarcan. You were barely conscious, and you still tried to kick the guards’ asses.”
I remembered the way his arms had locked around me like letting go wasn’t something his body knew how to do.
“I watched you terrified to Shift because your whole life, people told you your wolf was something to be ashamed of. And then you did it anyway.” His thumb traced my cheekbone.
“You were about to fight your father, and yet you sent everything you had through the bond to keep me standing, and then you went to face him alone.” He swallowed.
I couldn’t speak. My jaw was tight, and my eyes were burning.
“You deserve everything, Annabella. Every good thing you were never allowed to have. And I swear on my brothers, on this Pack, on every stupid reckless thing I’ve ever done, if we make it through tomorrow, I will spend the rest of my life making sure the world gives it to you.
And anything it won’t give, I’ll take for you myself.
” His forehead dropped to mine. “I love you.”
I pulled the tie from my braid and shook my hair loose. The silver streak fell across my face. I held his eyes and said, “I love you, too, Sam Shaw.”
He kissed me.
Not gentle, and definitely not tentative.
He kissed me like the words had undone something inside him.
His hands slid into my hair, his mouth open and hot against mine, and I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer because I was done with distance.
Done with careful. Done with holding pieces of myself back.
Tomorrow we were going to war, but tonight, tonight I was choosing this.
I shoved him backward. He went—surprised, willing—until the backs of his legs hit the leather couch and he sat down hard. I climbed into his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, and his hands found my hips on instinct.
“Annabella—”
“Shut up.” I yanked his shirt over his head and threw it somewhere behind me. Put my hands flat on his chest and felt his heartbeat hammering under my palms.
His laugh was startled and breathless. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.” It was an automatic response; my vagina very much liked it when he’d called me ma’am.
“What do you want me to call you?”
I rolled my hips against him. Watched his eyes go gold at the edges, his wolf pressing close to the surface. Felt him hard beneath me, straining against his jeans.
“Whatever comes out when you can’t think straight.”
“That’s going to be mostly profanity.”
Hell, yes!
“Good.”
I kissed him again, slower this time, deliberate, my tongue sliding against his while I worked his belt open.
The firelight turned his skin warm bronze, shadows moving over the planes of his chest, the ridges of his stomach.
I’d mapped this body in stolen moments between crises.
Tonight, I wanted to learn every inch of it without a clock ticking.