Page 4 of Elven Prince

Rebecca didn’t have to look at him to hear the tiniest smirk in his words. Or maybe she merely felt his amusement, the way she’d been feeling his general moods almost as if they were her own for weeks now.

“Depends on how you definegood,” she said. “Mostly, since the warehouse, our surveillance lines have centered on everything else we know about Harkennr’s forces. Incoming and outgoing from the Old Joliet Prison, plus a few other supply routes that don’t seem to include abducted civilians among the cargo. No one’s touched the warehouse since we burned it to the ground.”

“That could mean any number of different things on its own.”

“Tell me about it.” She shuffled the reports around and pointed to a different messy pile. “Still keeping tabs on Eduardo through everything too. His griybreki aren’t nearly as busy as they used to be, though who knows how long that’ll last?”

“You think that’s a product of intercepting his weapons shipment?”

“Maybe. Probably. Eduardo’s not exactly the sharpest crime boss in the arsenal, though. If he decides to move when we’re otherwise engaged with anyone else, he could definitely pose more of a problem for us.”

Though he moved without a sound, Rebecca still felt every twitch of muscle and rustle of air as Maxwell took a single step toward her behind the desk. As if all he wanted was a better view of the morning’s newest reports.

At this point, she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover Maxwell Hannigan could read intel reports upside down from ten feet away.

The flare of all-consuming energy—the beckoning tug on her core, the need to be ever closer to him like a physical hunger within her entire being—surged through her with even greater force, as it no doubt did through Maxwell too.

Was he doing this on purpose?

If that gods-be-damned rune on his chest meant what Rebecca feared it meant, he could definitely have been doing this on purpose. Toying with her. Using their still-unexplained and overpowering connection to manipulate her like a puppet on its fucking strings.

Even then, there were still some things underhanded manipulation couldn’t fake.

Like Maxwell’s sharp inhale when the flaring sensation hit him too. Or the way the heat of his body and the scent of moonlight and dew-studded grass and deliciously obnoxious sandalwood pulsed off him in waves like a brewing storm cloud surrounding her right here in her office.

Or the way she knew she would find him staring at her, watching her, scrutinizing her every reaction and the minutest change in her expression, if she only turned around to look at him.

She didn’t. She couldn’t let herself give in to the irresistible call of his presence beckoning her ever closer since the day she’d fought Hector’s homunculi, poisoned herself, and killed Aldous Corriger in self-defense after Maxwell had shoved his hand through Hector’s guts.

The memory was surprisingly sobering.

Just not enough to take her mind off his closeness behind her.

“Those aren’t the only two targets on our surveillance list, are they?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, achingly aware of how stiffly she sat in the office chair and how stilted and distractedly compromised she sounded. “We’re still combing the city for anything remotely related to our little stint with unknown enemy number three who staged that super-fun night at the amusement park.”

Maxwell sighed. “Still unidentified.”

“Still. I’d love to change that, but so far, leads in that department have been a little hard to come by.”

“If Rick’s on it, he’ll get us what we need eventually. It’s just a matter of time.”

Rebecca snorted. “Sure. Because we have all the time in the world before the next emergency or surprise attack comes crashing down on our heads.”

That was a stupid thing to say, the sarcasm particularly unnecessary.

Maxwell understood nearly as well as Rebecca did the potential issues Shade currently faced. So many looming threats and still unknown players had affixed themselves to Shade’s story, either in response to decisions Rebecca had made since taking command or as the unavoidable product of Aldous having entered into various distasteful arrangements—his end of which he never would have legitimately fulfilled anyway.

Now, those partners—like Kordus Harkennr and even Big Boss, whoever the hell that was—wanted their pound of flesh from the changeling who’d disappeared off the playing field without warning or explanation.

Rebecca wasn’t obligated to offer either, though it would have been nice to have a little heads-up as to exactly what kind of messes her predecessor had left behind in his unfathomable stupidity.

A tense and coiling silence descended upon her office as she sat in her chair and Maxwell stood so devastatingly close behind her, both of them pretending to focus on something else while also feeling even the subtlest shifts in the other.

Blue Hells, how long were they going to keep this up without ever really talking about it for real?

They’d discussed it once, in the infirmary, after one kiss that had become something else entirely. Something Rebecca still didn’t trust or understand. Something that had almost scared her.

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