Page 193 of Elven Crown

Now that he’d finally withdrawn to put a little more space between them again, Rebecca’s thoughts cleared enough to remind her that this dangerous power dynamic between themcould either play against her or work to her advantage. She sincerely preferred the latter.

“Listen,” she added, with a heavy sigh. “Bottom line, we have to let Blackmoon prove himself over time, the way I had to prove myself. You don’t have to like him. Hell, I don’t either. But you can’t deny the fact that he’s a good fighter and that he can think on his feet when it really counts. Right now, this task force could use more good fighters with skills above and beyond the average.That’swhat this is about, and that’s what should be our focus.”

He stared her down for so long, she started to lose hope she might ever get through to him, no matter how she tried seeing things from his point of view—to find the right thing that would speak perfectly to his sense of loyalty and duty and obligation to the task force he was so hells-bent on serving and protecting.

But then, with another growl that sounded like defeat, he pulled farther away from her, gritting his teeth as if more distance between them caused him more physical pain. “We could get good fighters anywhere and not have to deal with all the extra bullshit that elf brings with him.”

Well, she couldn’t argue with him there, but what was done was done.

And what hadn’t yet been done, Rebecca still hoped to keep from ever happening.

“You don’t have to like it,” she said. “And I won’t ask that of you. All I’m asking you to do is leave him alone. Give him some space. You’ve made your point, and trust me, Blackmoon got the message.”

“How are you so sure of that?”

Because she could see it in Rowan’s eyes every time he and the shifter squared up against each other.

Not an appropriate response, and again, she had to skirt around it.

“I can just tell, okay? The two of you haven’t exactly kept a subtle handle on your opinions. I know Blackmoon doesn’t like it either, but he has to deal with the way things are, and you have to give him room for that. Is it ideal? Probably not. But that’s what’s best for everyone.”

She wanted to ask if she’d made herself clear this time, to request a verbal confirmation that he’d heard her, and his word that he’d give it a rest, but that felt like overkill. So instead, with a curt nod to the end their conversation, she slipped out from between the wall and the shifter looming over her and turned back toward the stage to leave.

Rebecca was the one who’d called him back here for a word in private. She was the one compelled to make herself clear yet again about what she expected of her operatives and how they dealt with one another. Even after all that, though, getting away from Maxwell and leaving him behind still felt like narrowly escaping some kind of prison.

Or barely making it out of this with her ability to resist him still intact.

She wanted to write it off as an after effect of overloading her magical system, but with her Head of Security, she’d already disproven that theory.

This thing between them was something else, and Rebecca was determined to hold it at bay for as long as possible.

She swept aside the edge of the dust-caked, tattered, stripped stage curtain to step back through it and hopefully leave this entire conversation behind her.

But then Maxwell cleared his throat. “Rebecca.”

There was so much concern in his voice, so much calm seriousness mixed with the kind of intimacy between two people that came with using their first names, that she couldn’t help but stop in her tracks, no matter how fervently she wanted to walk away.

Not to mention the fact that the sound of her name coming from Maxwell’s lips—her real name, the only true name of hers he had—made her heart skip and stutter in her chest before that burning tingle washed over her again with irresistible force.

She hoped like hell she only thought she was trembling, because if he saw her like that now,how seriously could he take her?

As if the shifter uttering her name were its own kind of spell, she found herself turning around to face him, compelled by that pull and entirely powerless against it.

No matter how hard she might have wanted to fight against it.

No matter how deeply flushed Maxwell’s face had become once she met his gaze again.

Whatwasthis?

He looked at her with the same fearful, deeply pained expression he’d fixed on her when she’d lain in one of Zida’s infirmary beds with a wooden stake through her guts.

As if he couldn’t stand to see her like this.

As if he couldn’t stand to lose her.

As if giving her another inch of space between them would tear him apart from the inside out.

Rebecca would have done anything in that moment to convince herself she didn’t feel the exact same thing.

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