Page 49 of Elven Crown

Rebecca was pretty sure it was Nyx.

Maxwell froze, then slowly lowered his gaze toward his side, where Rowan had just jostled him. His eyes flashed with the deepest, darkest hue of silver that almost reflected the burst of his own inherent magic just before a shift.

Rowan’s stupid grin didn’t even twitch.

Rebecca’s heart fluttered to a halt before rushing back in a burst of pounding dread lined with a gut-wrenching irritation. Two grown men who couldn’t keep their shit together long enough to take each other seriously.

Then Maxwell looked up at the elf beside him, and she knew.

Shit. They were about to duke it out right now. Right here in the hallway. And once they started, theonlyassured outcome was that of Rowan and Maxwell seriously injuring each other over something so stupid.

And at a time when Rebecca could have used them both.

Now that it occurred to her, she honestly didn’t know which one of them would gain the upper hand and come out on top. If either of them ever did.

16

The air thickened with dormant violence and the crackle of testosterone-fueled tension.

Rebecca realized she couldn’t keep holding her breath and waiting for Maxwell and Rowan to figure their shit out on their own.

Why was she waiting, anyway? She was the Thon-Da’al. Shade’s commander. Shedidhave the power to stop this.

She just hoped these idiots riling each other up in front of her had the power to exercise self-control and get a grip on themselves.

“Blackmoon,” she said tersely, her voice echoing like a crisp smack down the hallway. “That’s enough.”

Rowan’s hazel eyes flickered toward her, and he laughed again. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just messing around. Right, Hannigan?”

Maxwell growled again. “Are you serious?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. All that posturing… What’s your deal, huh? You got something against elves? You know what? Hey. It’s no big deal. I am totally down to be pals. We’ll get along just fine.”

He raised his fist in a playful punch once again heading right toward Maxwell’s shoulder.

Rebecca knew Maxwell had snapped even before it happened.

The shifter moved in the blink of an eye, faster even than most elves could move and much faster than anyone else could see.

A blurring streak of dark hair and flashing silver light and the gray of his button-down shirt, and the next second, both he and Rowan were in two entirely different places.

Now Maxwell stood where the elf had been, his open hand extended to the side toward his new irritation. Rowan, however, had been thrown across the hallway, stumbling out of control until his back thumped against the opposite wall.

With a grunt, he glared at Maxwell, no longer bothering to hide his disdain. He flexed his hand by his side—the same fist Maxwell had caught before using the Blackmoon Elf like a living slingshot.

No one said a word.

Rebecca didn’t move, though she was acutely aware of the operatives in the secondary armory now on their feet and crowding around the open doorway for a better view. Clearly, they expected the kind of fight that would undoubtedly break out if Rowan didn’t back the hell down first.

Maxwell certainly wouldn’t.

Peeling himself away from the wall, Rowan stared at the shifter, his hazel eyes wide and flashing with a new deep-gold light while his crazed grin split across his face from one side to the other. When he laughed, his face lit up with the kind of maddened, bloodthirsty battle rage Rebecca had seen in him only too many times.

He always dressed it up like another joke he just couldn’t get enough of telling.

He glanced at his open hand and let out another bark of madman’s laughter. “Oh, yeah! Nowthat’sthe spirit!”

Then he surged across the hallway again, heading straight for the shifter.

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