11. Sam
Chapter eleven
Sam
Ellington might hate Shifters, but if he was one of Kane’s, that meant he was ex-military; years of conditioning that didn’t just fade because you put on a different uniform.
Military men had certain reflexes drilled so deep they couldn’t be unlearned.
Chain of command. Deference to authority.
The bone-deep need for structure when everything around them descended into chaos.
And right now, with his radio shrieking and the building shaking and half his colleagues sprinting toward a perimeter breach, Ellington’s conditioning was screaming at him to find the highest-ranking person in the vicinity and follow orders.
I just had to make sure he saw me as that authority.
I turned to face him fully. “The lockdown order. What exactly did it say?”
“No one leaves Alpha level.” His voice was clipped, certain. “Warden’s direct order.”
“‘No one leaves’ isn’t the same as ‘no one goes in,’ is it?”
Ellington blinked. His mouth opened. Closed.
Good.
“The order prevents prisoner movement during a crisis. It says nothing about a Council member entering to conduct a time-sensitive interrogation.”
“I—” He looked between Gideon and me. “That’s not—”
“Are you questioning a Council directive?” I dropped my voice. Let it go cold. “During an active security breach?”
The alarms shrieked. Another rumble through the floor—my brothers’ work, beautiful and violent. Ellington’s radio erupted:
“RED AND BLUE TEAMS TO NORTH PERIMETER! REPEAT—”
He looked torn. The muscle in his jaw worked overtime.
“Every minute we waste is a minute the Council doesn’t have critical intelligence from the prisoner who may have orchestrated this attack.” I let that hang.
One more second of hesitation. Then his shoulders settled into a decision.
“Alpha level access. I’ll need to log—”
“Log it. I’ll take full responsibility.”
I met Gideon’s eyes over Ellington’s shoulder. Something passed between us—no words needed. He hated this. Hated splitting up, hated the multiplication of risk, hated every variable we hadn’t planned for. But he’d get Mina and Zeke out. That was his job now.
Mine was Annabella.
“Let’s move,” I ordered Ellington.
His jaw went taut, but he didn’t argue.
The Alpha wing was at the far end of the facility, deep in the mountain’s gut, where the concrete gave way to carved granite. Ellington’s keycard got us through the first security gate. Then the second. Then a third.
With each checkpoint, the air changed. Colder. Thinner. The silver scent that had been bad at the entrance became something else entirely back here; concentrated, weaponized, burning my sinuses. Suppression wards pressed against my skin like static before a storm.
My wolf growled, pressing tight against my ribs.
The final gate opened onto Alpha corridor. Narrow. Concrete. Emergency lights strobing red against walls embedded with silver lines that glowed faintly in the dimness. The main lights were out, killed by the lockdown or the explosions. Just the strobes, painting everything in pulses of crimson.
And the sound.
The alarms had woken Alpha wing.
Howls ricocheted off concrete, raw, desperate, barely human.
Someone was laughing, high and manic, the sound splintering into sobs.
Another voice shouted numbers in a flat stream, like a broken radio stuck on one frequency.
Fists hammered against bars. Bodies slammed against silver-infused barriers and kept slamming, even though every impact must have burned.
Ellington’s hand went to his weapon. His scent spiked, sharp, chemical.
“Keep moving,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise.
We moved down the corridor. Cell after cell. Some faces pressed against silver bars, either contorted with rage or slack with the empty-eyed blankness of people who’d stopped being people a long time ago. A woman with matted gray hair raked her fingers down the bars and screamed at us.
The strobing red light made everything look arterial. Like walking through the inside of something wounded.
We hit a security gate; reinforced steel, silver mesh in the frame. The guard station beside it was empty, its occupant probably pulled to the perimeter. Ellington swiped his card. Hydraulic hiss. The gate slid open.
Through. The clang of it closing behind us echoed for too long.
The next section was quieter. Fewer prisoners, but the ones here were different. They didn’t scream. They didn’t slam against their bars. They watched us pass with flat, measuring eyes. Their attention made the back of my neck tighten.
Another gate. Another swipe.
Two guards materialized from a side corridor, a man and a woman, both armed, both tense.
“Council business,” I said before they could open their mouths. My tone didn’t leave room for discussion.
The woman spoke into her radio. “Command, we have Council on Alpha level, confirm clearance—”
“—TEAM FROST REPORT! WE HAVE SECONDARY brEACH AT—”
“—need backup at northwest, repeat, northwest—”
“—WHO THE HELL AUTHORIZED—”
The voices overlapped, frantic, nobody listening to anyone else. The woman tried again. “Command, confirm—”
Another explosion shuddered through the floor.
“I am Council member Sam Shaw,” I said, stepping into the gap. “And while you wait for someone to answer, the people who attacked your perimeter are getting away.”
The male guard grimaced. “Clear them through.”
They stepped aside.
We kept moving.
The mate bond was a fist around my heart now, tightening with every step. My wolf was snarling now; low, continuous, pressed so hard against my ribs wanting out that I could feel him in my teeth.
Close. So close.
The scent hit me.
Storm clouds and wild honey—hers, but underneath it, infection, silver burns, blood, fear.
My vision went red at the edges.
I didn’t ask which cell. Didn’t need to. My feet carried me forward on instinct alone, following the pull that had been there since the moment I’d first seen her in the street.
The corridor ended in a T-junction.
The bond pulled left.
There.
Silver bars gleaming in the strobing red light. Through them, I could see—
My wolf lunged against my chest so hard I staggered.
Annabella lay on a thin mattress, curled on her side. Shaking.
Even from here, I could see the damage. Her face was a canvas of bruises, purple and yellow mottling her left cheek, her eye swollen nearly shut.
Her jumpsuit hung loose on her frame, dried blood spread out down her left side, and I could see the way she held herself, protecting her ribs.
Silver burns wrapped around her visible wrists like angry red bracelets, some of them weeping.
The scent of infection filled my nostrils. Sweet and rotting underneath the silver and sweat. My wolf snarled, recognizing what that meant; her wounds had gone septic. How long had she been like this? How long had they left her to suffer?
I locked it down. The rage, the horror, the howling need to tear this building apart with my bare hands. Locked it all in a box and sealed it shut, because she needed me functional, not feral.
“Open it,” I ordered. My voice didn’t sound like my own.
He hesitated, fumbling for his keys. “The prisoner is—”
“Now.”
The lock clicked. The bars swung open.
I was on my knees beside the mattress before I registered moving.
Up close, everything I’d seen from the corridor was worse.
Her skin burned with fever despite the cold, sweat plastering dark hair to her forehead.
Her breathing came shallow and too fast, each exhale carrying a faint rattle that made my wolf keen.
I didn’t know where to touch her that wouldn’t cause pain.
“Annabella.” My voice cracked. I didn’t care. “Annabella, it’s Sam.”
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy, unfocused. She stared at me for a long moment, her brow creasing like she was trying to solve something complicated.
“You’re not real,” she whispered. Her voice was wrecked, hoarse, scraped raw. “You’re not… Sam wouldn’t come.”
Fucking hell! She thought I’d left her here.
And she’d been lying in this cell, dying, and she’d believed nobody was coming.
“I’m real. I’m here.” I reached for her hand, stopped when I saw the burns ringing her wrist. Fuck. I couldn’t even touch her without causing pain. “I’m getting you out.”
“Don’t worry.” Something flickered in those fever-bright eyes—defiance, buried deep but still burning. “I’m getting myself out. Got a plan. Any day now.” The words dissolved into a cough that shook her whole body. She curled tighter, gasping.
“Don’t move. Just…don’t move.” I looked over my shoulder. “Ellington. Get a medic down here. Now.”
Ellington stood in the doorway. “Just what the fuck is going on here? What the fuck do you mean you’re getting her out?”
I clenched my fists, I didn’t have time for this, but if he could get a medic here…
I stood and strode back to him. “This prisoner has vital information about the current attacks on the Council. We need her alive and able to answer questions. Now get a fucking medic here.”
Ellington blinked, glanced between Annabella and me, then said: “I can’t. Lockdown protocol. No one goes to medical during—”
“She needs medical attention immediately—”
“There are no exceptions. Not during lockdown.”
“I see. Then you’re no more use to me.” My hand locked on the back of his neck, arm around his throat, forearm against his carotid.
He reached up, but I already had the angle, leg hooked behind his to control his balance.
He grabbed at my arm, strong, trained, but I had the angle and five seconds was all it took.
His hands scrabbled. Slowed. Went still.
I lowered him to the floor. Checked his pulse—steady. He’d live.
Behind me, Annabella made a small sound.
I dragged Ellington inside the cell, propped him against the wall. Took his radio, keys, access pass. Then I turned back to her.
She was watching me with those fever-bright eyes, something that might have been amusement fighting through the pain.
“You… you knocked him out.”
“Yeah.”
“Can you do that to all the guards? They’re all fucking assholes.”
“If you want me to.” I knelt beside her, closer this time. “I need to get you out of here. Can you stand?”
She shook her head. The movement was small, careful. “Sam.” Her hand trembled toward mine, and I caught it, gently, so gently, cradling her fingers. Her skin was on fire. “I’m dying.”
“No—”
“I can feel it. The infection. It’s everywhere now.” Her fingers tightened on mine, barely any strength behind them, and that scared me more than anything else. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I’m dreaming you so I can say goodbye.”
“I’m real, Annabella. I’m here to get you out.” My voice was rough. “You’re not dying. I won’t let you.”
“Always so stubborn.” Her mouth curved, sad, exhausted, beautiful. “Felix was like that too. No, wait. You are Felix.” A small shake of her head. “I keep getting confused. But it doesn’t matter. Whoever you are—whoever you really are—I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Find Ellie. My sister. She’s—” She coughed again, worse this time. When she spoke again, blood flecked her lips. “She’s in the Ashridge Pack. Promise me you’ll find her, get her out of there. Keep her safe.”
“I will.” I moved closer, bringing our joined hands to my chest. “But you’ll be there to help me. Because you’re not dying, Annabella. Not here. Not like this.”
“Sam—”
“We’re getting Mina and Zeke out, too. All three of you.” I could hear running boots in the distance. The alarms still wailing. We were out of time. “But I need you to try, okay? I need you to fight.”
Her eyes searched mine, desperate yet still so fierce. “Why?”
“Because you’re my mate.” The words came out before I could stop them. “And I’m not losing you.”
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.
For one second, the fever and the pain and the dying all fell away, and she looked at me with something so naked and desperate and hopeful that it nearly took me apart.
Then her eyes rolled back and she went limp.
“No. No, no, no—” I caught her, felt her pulse; thready, too fast, but there. Still there. Still mine.