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Chapter twenty-four

Felix

F elix

“Again,” Annabella snapped, frustration radiating off her in waves. “And this time, try to make it look like we’ve actually touched each other before.”

We’d been at this shit for two hours in the loft’s training area, practicing our couple act for the gala. The worn mats beneath our feet reeked of sweat and irritation, and my wolf was getting restless, scratching just beneath my skin.

“Maybe if you’d stop tensing up every time I get within a foot of you, I could be more convincing,” I shot back, rolling my shoulders to work out the kinks. “You’re strung tighter than Duke when someone touches his leather jacket.”

Annabella’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t tense up.”

“Your heart rate accelerates. Your shoulders go rigid.” I gestured toward her body. “Anyone with functioning eyeballs will read you like a billboard announcing, ‘I’d rather be fighting this guy than holding his hand.’”

“Not everyone at this gala will have enhanced senses.”

I stepped closer, deliberately crowding her space.

“No, but Johnson’s security detail will.

Four Council enforcers with their senses cranked to eleven, trained to smell deception from across the room.

” The irony of my current predicament wasn’t lost on me.

“If we can’t convince them we’re a couple, we’ll never get close enough. ”

Annabella didn’t back away, but her reaction to my proximity was unmistakable—the quickening pulse visible at the base of her throat, the subtle dilation of her pupils, the way her scent shifted from storm clouds and rain to something warmer, honeyed.

The change contradicted her outward coldness, telling a different story entirely.

She’d been this way since our return from the Obsidian—alternating between drawing closer and pushing me away like she couldn’t decide which was more dangerous.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “What do you suggest, relationship expert?”

I bit back a smile. Even irritated, she was captivating—the silver streak in her dark hair catching the light as she moved, the intensity in her eyes that never fully dimmed.

I shouldn’t be noticing these things. I shouldn’t be cataloging the ways her lips curved when she was thinking or how her fingers absently traced patterns on her thigh when she was planning.

“Let’s start with the backstory.” I took a step back and leaned against the wall. “If we’re going to pull this off, we need details that sound authentic.” I cocked my head. “How did we meet? How long have we been fucking? What does Mrs. Holloway see in a screwed-up lone wolf like me?”

She joined me against the wall, keeping a careful distance. “We met at a supernatural speakeasy in the Lower East Side. I was there for a business meeting; you were hustling at the pool table.”

“Specific but not overly complicated. Easy to remember under pressure.” I nodded. “And then I charmed the pants off you with my rugged good looks and winning personality.”

That earned me a snort.

“More like you wouldn’t stop pestering me until I agreed to have a drink with you.”

“Persistence in the face of rejection. That tracks for Felix Holloway.” I grinned at her, enjoying the reluctant twitch of her lips.

“Timeline?” She quizzed me back.

“Married four months. Long enough to be comfortable in public but still in that phase where we can’t keep our hands off each other. I still think it’s a bold choice, Moonbeam. Especially considering how you practically levitate away from me whenever we practice.”

A hint of color touched her cheeks, and I caught that thread in her scent again—something warmer, headier. My wolf perked up, suddenly paying very close attention.

“It’s tactical,” she said. “Gives us an excuse for wandering off together during the gala.”

“Smart. But it means we need to sell the physical contact.”

I pushed off the wall and held out my hand. After a moment’s hesitation that I felt rather than saw, Annabella took it. Her fingers fitted into mine with a rightness that sent an unexpected jolt through my chest.

I tugged her gently toward me, bringing us face to face.

“We need baseline comfort,” I said. “Small touches couples do without thinking.” I placed my hand on the small of her back, feeling her stiffen, then deliberately relax.

I traced the lines of her palm with my fingers.

“Casual touches.” I moved closer until our bodies were almost touching and lowered my voice.

“Standing in each other’s space without awkwardness. ”

Her eyes were locked on mine, and for a split second, she looked almost vulnerable.

“Most important is how we look at each other,” I continued, suddenly finding it harder to keep my professional tone. “People in love have tells: pupils dilate, focus softens. They track each other across the room like they can’t help it.”

The mask snapped back into place, her usual wariness returning. “I have been undercover before, Felix.”

“Of course,” I conceded, moving closer until our bodies were only inches apart. “But right now, I’m in your personal space, and we need to make this look natural. Like this is something we do every day—me being this close to you, just talking.”

She exhaled slowly, her eyes going half-lidded as she consciously relaxed. It was nice. I liked her being this near to me, close enough for me to lean down and kiss her.

I needed to distract both of us before I did something stupid.

“What do you think is really behind the Council’s anti-witch policies?” I said, shifting topics before my thoughts wandered too far down that dangerous path. “You ever met any Council members? Other than when you mind-wipe them?”

She frowned. “I don’t need to meet them to know what they stand for. The Council used Webster’s protective spell as an excuse to ban all witches from the North. They twisted what happened to justify their agenda to grab power.”

“Protective spell? You mentioned that before.” I kept my tone neutral, just curious enough to seem interested but not challenging.

“The spell was designed to control dangerous, out-of-control wolves—the ones that threatened everyone, including other werewolves. But the Council saw an opportunity. They painted all witches as threats and drove them out. They made people fear us, hate us. Whole covens were destroyed. Families torn apart. Our lands, property, all our belongings, confiscated.”

She kept saying “our.” Like she wasn’t half-Shifter at all.

I watched her for a moment, noting the passion in her voice, the genuine pain.

“I was a kid when it happened,” I said truthfully. “One of our neighbors—Old Man Jack, we used to call him—he got medicine from a witch healer outside our territory before the ban. After the witches were driven out, he got sick, and there was nothing the Pack doctor could do.”

This wasn’t fiction. Old Man Jack had needed a witch healer to treat silver poisoning from the war with Bridgetown.

This was before Mai and my oldest brother Ryan took over Three Rivers, before my other brother Mason and his mate Shya were the Alphas of Bridgetown.

“After the ban, there was this… gap. Things witches used to handle that suddenly no one could manage. People suffered because of it.”

“What happened to Old Man Jack?” she asked, her voice softer.

I shifted my weight slightly. “He died without the herbal infusions.” The Council had been ruthless in the past, only seeing things through a black-and-white lens.

We saw the gray now… well, some of us did.

“The Council claimed the witch ban was for everyone’s protection, but ordinary wolves paid the price, too. ”

Something flickered across her face. “That’s what happens when you paint an entire group as the enemy,” she said softly. “Everyone loses something.”

I reached out without thinking, watching her face as I placed one hand on her hip. She didn’t flinch this time; instead, her breath caught as I drew her closer, our bodies nearly touching now.

“Before he died, my father always said the Council overreacted. Said they should have targeted the individuals responsible, not all witches.” Another truth, carefully framed.

“But that’s not how those in power usually handle things, is it?

Easier to create a common enemy than admit there are shades of gray, especially when it serves their purposes. ”

She studied me with a new intensity, like she was seeing something unexpected. “Most wolves I’ve met just parrot the Council line about witch treachery.”

I shrugged, acutely aware of how close we were standing, her warmth radiating against me. “Most wolves haven’t seen both sides of the story.”

She tilted her head up at me, her lips soft and inviting. “And you have?” she asked.

“I’ve been around. Seen enough to know nobody’s hands are completely clean in this mess. Council, covens, Packs; everyone’s got their own version of history.”

Her gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there with undisguised interest that sent heat pooling low in my gut.

“We should practice the other part,” I said, voice dropping lower. “The part where we can’t keep our hands off each other.”

Her eyes widened fractionally. “What do you—?”

I didn’t let her finish. Sliding my hand to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, I pulled her toward me. For a heartbeat, I hesitated, giving her time to pull away if she wanted.

She didn’t.

So I kissed her.

Her lips were soft and warm against mine, and for one suspended moment, she was perfectly still, like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf.

Then I felt her sharp intake of breath, the subtle tremor that ran through her body as her lips parted in surprise.

I took advantage, deepened the kiss, my other hand sliding around her waist to pull her flush against me.