Page 55

Chapter forty-five

Annabella

O r rather what was left of one. The trunk was split nearly in half, a jagged crack running from roots to crown.

Its branches, some fresher, newer, while others were ancient and gnarled, were broken, hanging by splinters or severed completely.

I didn’t know how it was still standing; it was a monument to stubborn survival rather than strength.

I opened my arms, and Sam’s memories streamed from me. Like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind, the memories I’d collected swirled around the broken tree.

I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe that they would merge with the tree, rebuild it. But no, the memories just swirled faster and faster round the branches as if agitated.

“Why isn’t it working?”

Silence.

“Are you taking a tea break, Esme? I need help here!”

No answer. Fucking great.

That’s when I noticed it—a second tree, its trunk slender and new beside the massive oak.

This sapling, with luminous silver-green leaves that shimmered even in this mindscape’s dim light, had somehow grown intertwined with the main oak.

Its young branches, still easily broken, had nevertheless woven themselves through the damaged structure of Sam’s mind-tree, providing unexpected support where the old oak was weakest.

I reached out, fingers hovering just above one delicate branch where it curved protectively around a particularly deep crack in the oak.

The moment I made contact, recognition jolted through me—this wasn’t just any tree.

This was us. The connection that had formed between Sam and me, nascent and tenuous, yet already rooted deeply enough to keep parts of him intact when Lydia’s spell had tried to tear him apart.

Now the magic-dance begins! Esme’s voice floated through my mind like wind chimes. The sparkles must find their home. Wolf-heart and witch-fingers working as one song now.

I was learning that Esme’s guidance was like trying to follow a butterfly through fog.

“Um…?”

Still thinking like river-fork when you are whole-stream , her voice echoed. Broken Sam needs whole-you to make broken-him whole-him again.

I stared at the two trees. “Yeah, that’s not as helpful as you think it is.”

She didn’t reply.

Fine.

I closed my eyes, focusing inward. For years, I’d shoved my wolf into the darkest corners of my mind, keeping her muzzled and caged, using my magic to keep her down.

Could I do this? If I broke open the cage, there’d be no going back. I’d be letting her out, and I didn’t know if I could ever put her back again.

But this wasn’t about me. This was about Sam. And in that moment, I knew I would do anything to bring him back.

I pictured the cage in my mind. Pictured the magic I had woven into it, remembered how Simon had taught me the spells.

Air punched from my lungs as I looked at what I had done.

My wolf was a fucking wreck. Ribs jutted through mangy fur that fell away in clumps. Sores crusted her legs where she’d gnawed at herself. Her eyes were dull, though a spark of defiance remained as she paced in tight, neurotic circles.

Holy Goddess. I’d done this. All these years of shoving her down, pretending she wasn’t part of me, hating what she represented—I’d been slowly killing her. Killing myself.

There were no words to describe the horror churning through me.

Her head snapped up, ears pinned flat. She bared yellowed teeth, backing into a defensive position. Not just angry, terrified. Of me. Her own fucking self.

I stepped forward. Her lips pulled back further, a warning growl vibrating the air between us. And I remembered. I remembered a time when I was so sure that both halves of me were stronger together.

I was twelve, huddled in a bathroom, my arm broken by Lucas. I’d used a partial Shift to heal myself. And for just one brilliant moment, I’d felt it: the fierce certainty that my dual nature wasn’t a curse but a gift.

There was power in being both wolf and witch. I was sure of it, even if no one else could see it.

I’d thought that, had known that. But that clarity had been snuffed out.

The Pack had hammered it into me daily—my wolf was tainted, an abomination because of my witch blood.

They’d treated me like a disease they were forced to tolerate.

Every taunt, every beating, every whispered “witch-bitch” in the hallways had taught me to hate what made me different.

And when I finally escaped to find witches, I’d been so desperate to belong somewhere, anywhere. They’d looked down on me, treated my wolf half as a primitive stain that handicapped my magical abilities.

And I’d believed them. Just like I’d believed the Pack. I locked my wolf away, shoved her down deeper with each passing year. I used my magic—the very thing that had once saved me—to build walls around her, to muzzle her, to starve her into submission.

I’d done this. Not the Pack. Not the witches. Me.

“I know,” I said, voice rough. “I know I’ve done this.”

Another step. The wolf’s growl deepened, but she held her ground.

“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

I kneeled, making myself vulnerable in a way that went against every instinct. She stared at me, eyes reflecting years of rage and betrayal. I saw myself in that gaze, all of me laid bare.

“It was my fault. I did this to you.” A sob escaped, then another. How could I have been so fucking blind? How could I have done this?

I extended my hand, palm up, like I would to a feral dog. Her nostrils flared, scenting me—herself—us.

“I kept you locked up like some rabid beast. I starved you. We’re supposed to be one, were always supposed to be one, and I ripped us in half.”

The wolf inched forward, every muscle tensed to bolt. I stayed frozen as she approached, her movements stiff. When she came within reach, I slowly—so fucking slowly—reached out.

She flinched but didn’t retreat. My fingers touched her, her fur feeling like brittle straw.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, hot tears spilling down my face. I wrapped my arms around her skeletal frame, feeling every ridge of her spine, every jutting bone I’d created through neglect. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

A low growl rumbled in her chest with every breath.

I held her, tears matting into her fur until the growl faded to a whisper.

Her body shuddered against mine. Then she made a sound, a broken whimper that sliced through me sharper than any knife and collapsed into my arms, her head dropping heavily against my shoulder.

The barrier spells I’d created crumbled to dust. Pain ripped through me like wildfire, searing every nerve. I screamed. She howled. The sounds merging until one note ran out from both of us.

My eyes flung open, and I was back, twice as whole, beneath Sam’s tree. Silver-green light blazed around me. Sam’s memories responded instantly, zipping with blinding speed around the tree.

Words rose in my throat.

“ Memoria integra, lupus et saga uniti. Fractus nunc totus, separatum nunc iunctum. ”

Like bullets, the little balls of memories shot toward the damaged tree and slammed into place with bone-deep clicks. With each piece locked in place, the tree began to heal—jagged cracks sealing shut, severed branches reattaching, fresh green shoots erupting where there had been only dead wood.

Then the final sparkle clicked home, and the energy went nuclear. The blast threw me backward, ripping me out of Sam’s mind and slamming me back into the reality of the containment room. I gasped, vision swimming, my hands still clamped on Sam’s temples.

Holy fucking shit. That had been intense.

Esme looked practically radiant, her eyes sparkling. “It is as it should be,” she said, her voice lilting with delight. “You did good, my sister-of-two-magics.”

Sam’s face had transformed—the lines of pain gone, his expression relaxed. Before I could stop myself, I brushed his hair back from his forehead.

His eyes snapped open.

I froze, my hand still hovering by his temple. His gaze locked onto mine, recognition and something else flickering across his face. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, exhausted smile.

“Moonbeam,” he whispered.

He remembered. His memories were back. It had worked. Relief flooded through me. Then his eyes rolled, and he fell back against the bed.

What the hell?

“It’s good.” Esme laughed at the expression on my face. “He needs sleep now.”

Calloway’s scent spiked with relief. “And Talia?”

“Talia needs something different,” Esme said, frowning at the bed Johnson had been in. “I’ll need to rest, then I can get her sparkly thoughts.”

“So, you don’t need McGrath?”

Esme shook her head, her eyes never leaving the bed.

“Fabulous. Looks like your ticket to Adarcan Prison just came through, McGrath.”

A spike of fear thrummed through me, so visceral I had to clench my jaw to keep from showing it. My newly awakened wolf stirred anxiously within me, but not with the terror I expected. Instead, I felt… readiness. As if the reconciliation had given me something I’d been missing all my life.

I took one last look at Sam, his face peaceful in sleep. He’d called me “Moonbeam.” He was back. He was going to be okay.

I straightened my back, squared my shoulders, and met Calloway’s eyes. “Let me guess—five-star accommodations with a view of the execution yard?”

Calloway’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to see how the other half lives.” I lifted my chin. “Just remember, Calloway—I’ve spent my life keeping half my power locked away. And I just threw away the key. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

My words hung in the air between us, not quite a threat, not quite a promise. But something had changed inside me. I wasn’t the same person who’d woken up in this room an hour ago.

And Adarcan Prison had no idea what was coming.