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Chapter twenty

Felix

S hit. Shit. Shit.

Talia. My mentor. My friend. I couldn’t tell Annabella the truth now. I had to stay, had to make sure whatever plan Webster had, that Talia was not going to end up like Reynolds.

“Johnson is high profile,” Annabella said, a note of concern threading through her voice. “The security around her will be extensive.”

“Which is precisely why I’ve chosen your team. I have the utmost confidence that you will not let me down.”

“What’s so special about Johnson?” I asked.

Webster’s fingers stilled on his glass. “She is key to weakening the Council even further. It would be a huge blow to them if they lost her. Her knowledge is extensive. And dangerous to certain interests.”

Certain interests? His interests. Did they know how much evidence she was collecting against him? Taking out Talia would cripple the Council’s response to ripple, buying Webster and Kane more time to spread the drug and destabilize Shifter communities and shutting down her investigation into them.

“We’ll start our research straight away,” Annabella said.

“No need.” Webster made a dismissive gesture. “She’ll be attending a charity gala at the Harrington Hotel three nights from now,” Webster replied. “A perfect opportunity to access her without the full contingent of Council security that normally surrounds her.”

Annabella paused. “Three days? That’s too soon, Simon. We’ll need covers, equipment, a detailed floor plan—”

“All will be provided,” Webster interrupted, standing to signal the meeting’s end. “I have complete confidence in your abilities, Annabella.”

“I…” Annabella hesitated for just a second. “Of course. Whatever you want, Simon.”

“Good,” he murmured, but he was already looking at me. “Well, Mr. Masters, I look forward to seeing what you bring to Annabella’s team. The Council has taken much from all of us. Together, we will restore balance.”

The irony of his words, this man who’d nearly enslaved my entire species talking about “balance,” made bile rise in my throat. I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile rather than a snarl. “Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

Annabella and I stood, but Webster was already looking at his phone. We were dismissed.

My mind raced through options as we walked toward the door. I had less than seventy-two hours to devise a plan that would keep Talia safe while maintaining my cover and somehow protecting Annabella from the fallout that would inevitably come when Webster discovered his operation had failed.

In the elevator down, Annabella stayed silent.

“So,” I said, deliberately casual, “that’s the boss, huh? He’s not what I expected.”

She glanced at me. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Someone more…” I searched for the right word, “witchy? Guy looks like he should be running a hedge fund.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t let the suit fool you. Simon Webster is the most powerful witch of his generation.”

And the most dangerous.

But not to her. Never to her, not if I had anything to say about it.

I now had the proof that Webster was bankrolling Annabella’s crew. I just needed the location of where they did the mind-wipes, and then I could work on shutting Webster down for good.

The doors opened, and we stepped out into the parking garage. Our footsteps echoed against the concrete as we walked toward her car, and I noticed her fingers touching the silver streak in her hair again.

“Talia Johnson,” I said as we reached the Audi. “That’s a big step up.”

Annabella unlocked the car but paused before getting in, her hand resting on the door handle. “Having second thoughts?”

The question carried weight—not just about the mission, but about me. About whether I was committed to this team, to her leadership, to the cause she believed in so fiercely.

Yes, I wanted to say. I’m having all kinds of second thoughts. Starting with how the hell I’m going to keep you safe while stopping you from destroying the one organization that might actually save Shifter communities from Webster’s manipulation.

Instead, I rested my forearms on the roof of the car, studying her. “Just making sure I understand what I signed up for.”

“If you want out, say so now,” she said, her tone hardening in that way that meant she was preparing for rejection. For disappointment. “Once we start planning, there’s no backing out.”

The defensive edge in her voice made something protective flare in my chest. How many people had let her down? How many times had she put her trust in someone only to have them abandon her when things got difficult?

I held her gaze, letting her see the certainty there. “I’m not backing out, Annabella. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Her scent shifted slightly—surprise, maybe relief. She studied my face for a long moment, then nodded.

“But I am curious,” I continued, sliding into the passenger seat as she started the engine. “What happens to Johnson after Lydia does her memory wipe? She just goes back to an empty life, no idea who she is or what she knows?”

Something flickered in Annabella’s eyes. “It’s better than killing her,” she said finally.

Is it? I wanted to ask. Is living as an empty shell, stripped of everything that makes you who you are, really better than death? I knew what I’d choose. But I knew the answer would destroy something in her, and I couldn’t bear to be the one to do that damage.

“Death creates martyrs,” she continued. “Memory wipes create fear. When a Council member disappears, every other member knows they might be next. But when that same Council member shows up empty—walking, talking, but with no memory of who they are or what they knew—it’s a constant reminder of their vulnerability. ”

“Psychological warfare.”

“Yes. It’s effective and necessary. Besides,” she added, pulling out of the parking space with more force than necessary, “it’s what Simon wants.”

What Simon wants.

Right.

A bitter note rose in her scent, and I realized she was struggling with doubts of her own. Maybe not about Webster—not yet—but about the methods. About what they were doing to people like Reynolds.

“What’s the deal with Webster?” I asked, watching her profile as streetlights swept across her face in rhythmic patterns. Something told me their relationship was the key to finally understanding Annabella.

“What do you mean?”

“Just wondering where he fits in all of this. How a guy who looks like he should be on the board of Goldman Sachs became a ‘down with the establishment’ revolutionary type.”

She was quiet for so long that I thought she might not answer.

“Simon’s been fighting the Council longer than either of us has been alive,” she said finally. “He knows what they’re capable of better than anyone.”

“Because of his spell?” I asked. “The one he tried to use to control werewolves?”

Annabella’s jaw tightened. “That’s what the Council claims. The truth is more complicated.”

I bet it is.

“Complicated how?”

“The spell wasn’t meant to control werewolves. It was designed to protect humans and witches from rogue wolves who’d lost control. A defense mechanism, not a weapon. The Council twisted what happened to justify their anti-witch agenda.”

It took every ounce of self-control not to react.

The Webster Incident had been thoroughly documented—witness testimonies, magical forensics, Webster’s own research notes recovered from his lab.

The spell had been explicitly designed to place werewolves under witch control, creating a supernatural slave class. There was no ambiguity about it.

But Annabella had been fed a different story. One that painted Webster as a misunderstood protector rather than a would-be dictator.

“Is that what he told you?” I asked carefully.

She glanced at me sharply, then swung her gaze back on the road. “It’s the truth. I don’t care if you believe it or not. You’re here to do a job. If you can’t do that job because of whatever fucked up version of events you’ve been brainwashed into believing, you need to tell me now.”

The fierce protectiveness in her voice—not for herself, but for Webster—made my wolf whine with distress. She was defending the man who was using her, manipulating her desperate need for belonging to turn her into a weapon against her own kind.

I held my hands up in a gesture of surrender, forcing an easy grin onto my face. “Hey, I don’t give a fuck what happened in the past. Webster wants to take down the Wolf Council. I want to take down the Wolf Council. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all I need to know.”

She eyed me for a moment, then nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she pulled into the alley behind the loft, cutting the engine. Before she could get out, I caught her arm. Her skin was warm under my fingers, her pulse jumping at the contact.

“Hey,” I said, softening my voice. “You okay?”

Something vulnerable flashed across her face—so briefly I almost missed it. Then her walls came back up.

“I’m fine,” she said, pulling away from my touch. “I need to plan for the Johnson operation. I’ll brief the team tomorrow morning.”

She was out of the car and walking toward the loft entrance before I could respond, her spine straight, every line of her body radiating determination.

I hung back, watching her go.

What happened to you, Annabella?

I didn’t have answers. Not yet. But I was starting to piece together the story—the half-witch child rejected by her Pack, dismissed by the magical community, desperate for someone to see her worth. Enter Simon Webster, offering purpose and belonging in exchange for absolute loyalty.

It was masterful manipulation.

And when she found out the truth, it would destroy her from the inside out.