Page 40 of Elven Crown

The hurt behind Maxwell’s silver eyes struck something deep inside her. Something small and buried and forgotten after so many years of neglect.

It made her want to get out of her chair and go to him. To comfort him. To alleviate all that pain brewing behind the darkening storm cloud of his expression.

But how the hell was she supposed to do that? As his commander? His superior? His boss? Offer reassurance with a handshake or a pat on the back?

That was the only appropriate response to the inappropriate urge of wanting to heal the pain behind Maxwell’s eyes. That pain wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her responsibility.

Rebecca knew that.

She also knew that if she didn’t change the subject soon, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from going to him.

Not as his commander but as…something else. Something more.

Whether Maxwell might have accepted that kind of attention didn’t matter.

If Rebecca let herself give in to this kind of compulsion—to the irresistible allure of easing the darkness inside Maxwell Hannigan the way she’d never quite eased it within herself—it might as well be game over.

Once that door opened, it could never be closed again.

Once that door opened, all Rebecca’s priorities—her secrets, her identity, her anonymity on Earth—would be irrevocably compromised.

She knew this, and still, as she stared into Maxwell’s glowing silver eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder if it might be worth it.

14

The more they gazed at each other across the office, the more Rebecca was sure Maxwell was pleading with her for something. For help. For healing. For something to break the agony of his solitude the way it might break hers.

But how could she possibly give it to him when she had no idea what consequences would arise as a result?

He took a deep breath and let it all out again in a heavy exhale. “I think we need to—”

A swift, sturdy knock rose from the open office doorway, and Maxwell clamped his mouth shut.

Rebecca’s stomach clenched. This was the first real conversation she and Maxwell had ever had without having started it as an argument first. The inability to continue now was as uncomfortable as an inability to sneeze.

And she had no idea who stood on the other side of the door.

Like Rowan, for instance.

When she caught Maxwell’s eye again, though, all it took was a brief nod from her before the shifter was on his feet, pivoting toward the door with a growl already growing at the base of his throat.

The growl built in volume until he violently twisted the doorknob and jerked open the door with a snarl. “I said no interruptions.”

“I know, I know,” Rick blustered in the hallway before shooting a quick look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, boss, but he just won’t listen—”

Rowan shouldered his way past the blackhorn standing in the doorway, still oblivious to the importance of following the rules.

He slipped into the office, avoiding Maxwell altogether, and made his slow, casual line across the room toward Rebecca’s desk. “Ohwow. This is definitely not what I’d expected. Love what you’ve done with the place, though.”

Rick’s orange-red eyes widened in shocked despair as he watched the elf man roaming around the commander’s office as if it were his instead.

Rebecca remained seated behind her desk, watching the drama unfold, giving nothing away.

This was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid, and here it was, happening anyway.

Great.

“You have to tell me where you drew your inspiration from,” Rowan continued as he first passed her desk, then crossed toward the far side of the office toward that awful green leather armchair centered in front of the windows overlooking the common room.

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