15. Annabella
Chapter fifteen
Annabella
The door burst open.
I flinched. My hand went to my side where the deepest wound still throbbed, and my wolf surged forward, teeth and adrenaline and the ancient instinct to fight before thinking.
Then I caught the scent. Vanilla and jasmine, and under that, faintly, the ghost of Aunt Jo’s kitchen: cinnamon and lavender that made my chest seize up with a memory so sharp it cut. Not a threat. Family.
A blur of red hair and motion stormed in.
“You’re awake!”
Sofia Miller. I hadn’t seen her since I was eight years old, but I’d know that voice anywhere, loud and sure, daring you to match her energy.
She’d been a bossy little thing back then, always organizing the other kids, always putting herself between anyone smaller and whatever scared them.
The red hair was longer now, wilder. But the way she moved—like the room belonged to her and everyone in it was just borrowing space—that hadn’t changed.
She stopped at the edge of the bed, eyes sweeping over me, sharp and assessing before they softened. “You look like hell. Which, honestly, is an improvement from when Sam brought you in. Welcome back to the land of the semi-living, babe!”
I just stared, my brain lagging several beats behind her energy.
“Annabella,” she said again, softer this time. “Hey. You’re okay, you’re safe.”
“Apparently, I’m hard to kill,” I managed.
“Damn fucking right,” she said, as she dropped into the chair on my other side, not asking permission, crossing one leg over the other like she owned the place.
“And I gotta say, you woke up not a moment too soon. Thomas was about one more sleepless night away from sedating Sam, and trust me, that would’ve gone badly for everyone. ”
Sam made a sound that might have been protest. Sofia ignored him.
“So, I figure we have approximately seventeen years of catching up to do. Plus, I would love an update on my parents, assuming they’re still alive?”
Casual. Like she was asking about the weather. But her scent shifted, a thread of something sharp underneath all that warmth: fear.
Aunt Jo and Uncle Fred had been a lifeline to me and my mom. I didn’t know what we would have done without them, and now they were pretty much caring for Mom and raising Ellie. But we had to remain hidden, and that meant no contact with their own kids.
“They’re alive,” I said. “They’re safe. And they’re… they’re amazing, Sofia. I owe them more than I can say.”
She blinked. Her mouth opened, closed. For a fraction of a second the breezy confidence slipped, and I saw something raw underneath, like a kid standing at a window, watching for headlights that never came.
Then it was gone, smoothed over so fast that if I hadn’t been trained to read people, I’d have missed it.
“They left five years ago.” Her voice stayed level, but her grip on the chair arm tightened. “Packed up, vanished. No explanation. No forwarding address. Not a single call.”
“Sofia—”
“No, it’s fine.” She waved a hand, forcing brightness back into her tone. “I mean, it’s not fine, obviously. But I’ve had time to figure it out. They were protecting something. Someone.” Her green eyes found mine. “You.”
“It wasn’t only me. There were others who needed help, people who had nowhere else to go. Your parents believed in what they were doing. They still do.”
“Mmmm.” Her face went thoughtful and I got the impression there was a lot about her relations with her parents that I didn’t know or understand.
Sam shifted in his chair, a small movement that my wolf tracked. It was involuntary, infuriating how aware I was of him. Sofia looked from me to him. “Speaking of people who make questionable life choices, you need to shower, Sam. You smell like death warmed over and served with a side of guilt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a health hazard, but we’ll table that.” She turned back to me, and I saw it then—that same sharp intelligence that had made Aunt Jo such a good agent for the resistance. “Anyway, Mom and Dad…they’re really okay?”
I hesitated. We’d kept their location a secret. They hadn’t called or been in touch with their own kids for years. But Sofia was sitting here, looking at me with those eyes that were so much like her mother’s, and I realized she deserved to know.
“They’re…” I took a breath, made the choice. “They’re with the Ashridge Pack now. Hidden, protected. Your mom still makes that terrible coffee that could strip paint, and your father still tells the worst jokes in three states.”
Sofia’s whole face softened. “Dad’s jokes. Goddess, I actually miss those.” She shook her head. “And they have… what, you and your mom there?”
“My mom and my little sister.” The words came out carefully. “Ellie. She’s four now. Your parents are basically raising her since Mom’s health isn’t… great.”
“You have a sister?” Sofia’s eyebrows rose. “Four years old? So she was born after—?” She stopped. I could see the questions forming, the information not quite adding up, and my chest went tight.
I couldn’t tell her the truth about Ellie. Nobody could know that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Ellie’s amazing. Stubborn as hell, smart enough to terrify me. Your mom says she’s got Fred wrapped around her little finger.”
“That tracks.” Sofia’s mouth curved, warm and a little wistful. “A four-year-old cousin. Bet she runs them ragged.”
“I don’t know what my mom and I would have done without them.”
That landed. I saw it hit her, the confirmation that her parents’ absence hadn’t been careless. They’d stayed away to do something that mattered. It didn’t erase the hurt, nothing would, but it gave the wound a shape she could hold.
She nodded, looking thoughtful again. “Look, I know you probably want to bolt the second you can walk, but don’t. Not yet.”
I frowned, not sure why she’d care one way or the other. “You want me to stay? Why?”
“Because you’re family,” she said simply. “And Three Rivers doesn’t let family crash and burn alone. That’s kind of our thing.”
“You don’t even know me.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not yet. But I will. You’re stuck with me, so you might as well get used to it.”
It should’ve felt like a threat, but it didn’t.
Sofia stood, brushing imaginary wrinkles from her jeans.
“All right. I’ll let you rest before Thomas comes back and yells at me for talking your ear off.
I’ll bring you some proper food. Wally’s cooking something that smells insane, and once you taste it, you’ll never want to leave. ” She paused. “Anything else you need?”
I almost answered with: “My old life back.” Instead, I said, “Just some quiet.”
“You’ll get five minutes.” She grinned, heading for the door. “Then soup. And company. You’re welcome.”
The door swung shut behind her, and the room went still.
For a moment I just stared at the space she’d left. My senses were still adjusting to the absence, her scent fading, the temperature dropping half a degree now that her brand of chaos had exited.
“Is she always like that?” I asked.
“That? That was the restrained version.” Sam’s voice was quiet, the edge of amusement there but softer than I remembered. “Sofia doesn’t do halfway. When she decides to adopt someone, that’s it.”
“Great.” I sank back against the pillow, suddenly wrung out in a way that had nothing to do with my injuries. “Another person I can disappoint.”
“She means it,” he said after a pause. “About staying. About you being family.”
I turned my head toward him. He looked wrecked.
Clothes creased and stained from days of sleeping in that chair, split knuckles he hadn’t bothered to clean, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that didn’t come from one bad night.
But his eyes were steady. Clear and warm and locked on mine with a focus that made my wolf press up against my ribs.
“You should rest,” I said. “Get cleaned up. You look terrible.”
“I’ve looked worse.”
“Doubtful.”
His mouth curved. Just barely. And I felt it somewhere behind my sternum; a tug, like a hook buried so deep I couldn’t tell where it ended, and I began.
I looked away first. “Why are you still here, Sam? In this room. You’ve got your family, your Pack. You don’t need to be playing guard dog.”
“I’m not playing.”
Quiet. No humor in it, for once. No Felix charm. Just Sam, stripped down to something raw and certain.
“I won’t leave you,” he said. “You can hate me. You can refuse to forgive me. You can hex me six ways to sundown. But I’ll still be in this chair when you wake up.”
My wolf stirred.
“Even for a shower?” I said. “Because that would be a genuine kindness to my sense of smell.”
The corner of his mouth twitched wider. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me.”
That pull in my chest hummed. Low and steady, a frequency only I could hear. I absently reached for the silver streak in my hair, caught myself, and dropped my hand.
“I don’t hate you,” I said finally. “I want to,” I continued, staring at the ceiling because if I looked at his face, I’d lose my nerve. “Hating you would be easier. But I don’t. And that scares me more than Adarcan did.”
Something shifted in his face; relief, maybe, or something close to it.
“That’s a start,” he said quietly.
“Well, don’t get comfortable, Shaw.” My eyelids were heavy, the exhaustion from Sofia’s visit and this conversation, and the raw effort of being honest pulling me under. “I still don’t trust you.”
“I’ll earn it back,” he promised. “However long it takes.”
I should have told him not to bother. I didn’t. The last thing I felt before sleep took me was the faint, steady rhythm of his breathing beside the bed. Proof, for tonight at least, that I wasn’t alone.