14. Annabella
Chapter fourteen
Annabella
Iwoke up swinging.
My fist cut through empty air, and the momentum carried me sideways—off the edge of something soft. I hit the floor hard enough to rattle every bone in my body, and the pain in my ribs and side detonated.
A chair scraped. Footsteps, fast.
“Annabella…Shit.”
Sam. On his knees beside me before I’d even finished registering that the voice was real, hands hovering but not touching, close enough that his scent cut through the panic.
I flinched back. My shoulder blades hit the wall.
“Don’t.” The word came out ragged. “Don’t touch me.”
He pulled his hands away immediately. Settled back on his heels, giving me space.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’m right here. Take your time.”
The panic receded in stages, like floodwater pulling back from a ruined shore. No silver eating through my skin. No nullstone pressing down on me like a boot on my throat.
I pressed my back harder against the wall and took in my surroundings: as always searching for the exits first. Window to my left, double-paned glass.
Trees outside. Second floor based on the angle.
Door ahead, solid wood, hinged to open inward.
Medical equipment to my right: IV stand, rolling cart, monitors.
The IV line trailed from my arm, where I’d ripped it half-loose in my graceful dismount from the bed.
The room smelled like crushed lavender and clean linen and pine sap through open windows. Someone had chosen those curtains with the little pine-branch pattern and placed wildflowers on the bedside table. The whole room practically screamed, “You’re safe,” which was exactly why I didn’t trust it.
My wolf.
I reached inward, braced for that horrible emptied-out silence.
She stirred. Exhausted. Battered to hell. But there.
We’re out, I told her.
A faint pulse of recognition. Then she sank back under.
I almost lost it right there. Almost let the relief crack me open on this floor, because she was here.
My magic answered next, a silver-green flicker when I called for it. Weak, yes, but it came. It came.
Hex it all. I was shaking.
I pressed my palms flat against the cool hardwood and made myself breathe. Four counts in. Seven counts hold. Eight counts out.
Sam hadn’t moved; he was still on his heels, hands on his thighs.
Mate, my wolf murmured, then sank back under. I shoved that thought down so hard it practically left a crater.
“Mina and Zeke?”
“They’re fine. We got them out, too.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Almost two days. Thomas—the Pack doctor—he’s been monitoring you. You had a fever, an infection from…” He stopped himself. Recalibrated. “You’re at Three Rivers. Thomas and Wally’s house.”
“Three Rivers.” I kept my tone flat. Professional. Ice-cold. “And why exactly am I here?”
“Because I brought you here.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“What I know is that Council members don’t stage prison breaks for criminals.” I met his eyes and held them. “What are your orders this time, Shaw? Gain the half-breed’s trust, use her against Simon, close the case with a neat little bow?”
He didn’t flinch. I wanted him to flinch.
“There are no orders anymore, Annabella. I left the Council.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re an undercover spy. That makes you a liar. It’s literally in your job description.”
“It was.” He held my stare. “Past tense. I broke you out of the Kennel, killed two guards.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and the exhaustion in the gesture was so bone-deep it didn’t look like something you could fake.
“I’m fairly sure I’m the most wanted wolf in North America by now. If I’m not, give it a day.”
I searched his face for some sort of tell, but I’d spent months working beside him when he was Felix Masters, and I’d never once caught the lie. That was what made him dangerous. That was what made all of this impossible to trust.
“They don’t let you quit the Council. They hunt you down and either drag you back or kill you. And you expect me to believe you threw away everything. Your career, your position, your safety. For what?”
“For you.” He said it the way you’d say the sky is blue or water’s wet.
Silence stretched between us. Somewhere outside, an owl called as trees shifted in the wind.
I realized that my breathing had synced with his. I didn’t know when it had happened, but my inhales matched his, my exhales fell with his. I forced myself to break the rhythm, took a sharp breath out of turn.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re insane, then.”
He smiled wryly. “I’m thinking more clearly than I have in years. And that’s because of you.”
Something pulsed between us, something I didn’t understand. My wolf stirred, drawn to him despite the anger bubbling in my veins, despite everything.
A knock came at the door. Sam was on his feet before I could blink, body angled between me and the door, weight on the balls of his feet. Still on guard.
“Come,” Sam called, but he didn’t relax until the door swung open.
The man who entered was broad through the shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair cropped close, hands that were rough and oversized and currently carrying a medical bag that looked like it had seen its fair share of emergencies.
“Ah,” he said, surveying the scene: me on the floor, Sam standing guard, the IV line dripping onto the hardwood. “I see we’re doing this the hard way.” He looked at Sam. “Sit down before you keel over. I’m not treating both of you at six in the morning.”
Sam didn’t sit.
“As stubborn as your brothers.” He shook his head and stepped into the room. “I’m Thomas, the one who put you back together after Sam carried you in here looking like a bad autopsy.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a charming bedside manner?” I asked. “Because if they did, they lied.”
“I save the charm for patients who don’t rip out their IVs and end up on the floor.” He crouched beside me, movements unhurried. “May I?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Always.” He pulled a stethoscope from his bag. “But given that you nearly coded on my table two days ago, I’d consider it a personal favor.”
He came closer, movements slow and obvious.
They were all being so careful around me.
He checked the IV line, pulse, eyes—methodical, all business. His touch was steady; he’d obviously done this a thousand times before. He unwrapped the gauze on my wrists, and the skin underneath made me look away.
“Healing well,” Thomas said. “You may scar; silver scarring doesn’t always respond to Shifter healing the way regular wounds do.
The stab wounds on your side are clean. I debrided the infection, and your Shifter healing has finally kicked in.
” He rewrapped the bandages with fresh gauze that smelled like calendula and yarrow.
“Ribs are broken. But a Shift should knit them.”
“And then?”
“Then you’re functional. Not recovered—functional. There’s a difference.” He fixed me with a look that had probably cowed larger wolves than me. “Two weeks minimum before I clear you for anything beyond walking, eating, and sleeping. And I will know if you push it.”
Two weeks? Hell no. I had no intention of staying here for two whole weeks.
He finished bandaging and straightened, stretching his back with a quiet crack of joints. “You can stay here until you’re steady on your feet. Guest room, if you want privacy. Wally’s already threatening to redecorate it ‘for optimal recovery vibes,’ whatever that means.”
“That sounds terrifying,” I muttered.
“Exactly,” Thomas said. “That’s why I’m trying to keep you in the medical suite. I’ve seen his version of subtle.” He packed up his kit with efficient movements, then looked at me again. “You’ll be safe here, Annabella.”
“Safe?” I echoed, the word foreign on my tongue. “You can’t promise that.”
“No,” he said simply. “But I can promise we’ll do everything we can.” His eyes rested on Sam for a moment. “No matter what it costs.”
He nodded toward the door. “There’s food coming. Soup and bread. Try to eat when it gets here. And don’t even think about walking out that door until I clear you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You always this bossy?”
“Only with people who nearly die on my table.” He gave me a dry look that might have been humor, might have been warning. “Get some rest.”
He picked up his bag and headed for the door.
“Welcome to Three Rivers, Annabella. Try not to make my life difficult. Though if you are involved with one of the Shaw brothers, that ship’s probably sailed.
” He glanced between Sam and me. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.
Oh, if you’re up for another visitor, Sofia’s been pacing holes in our floor waiting for you to wake up. ”
Sofia. My cousin. My family.
The words shouldn’t have meant anything, but something in my chest twisted anyway. My fingers found the silver streak in my hair; I didn’t have a good track record with family.
“Sure. Send her in.”
I’d survived worse than family reunions.
Sam settled back into the chair, and for a moment neither of us spoke. Just the hum of the medical equipment, the wind in the trees, the distant sound of the house settling around us.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“If this is another lie—if any of this is a play—I know a hex that makes you violently allergic to your own scent. I want you to sit with that.”
He looked at me with a smile that belonged to Felix and Sam both.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”