Page 73 of Elven Prince

And the list of things Maxwell Hannigan didn’t know was vastly longer than the list of what Rebecca hadn’t yet managed to work out for herself—Shade’s enemies, including the real identity of at least three different factions; where Rowan was; and what he’d been cooking up since his sudden and unexplained absence from Shade.

Not to mention the shifter’s true intentions for trying to get close to her, especially now that fucking tattoo had entered the picture.

If she didn’t address at least some of this with Maxwell now, recent history had already taught her this same conversation would inevitably rear up at the worst possible time. It would only become a dangerous and even deadly inconvenience if she had to deal with it on top of whatever other new threat or emergency came their way.

And she knew it would. That was life with Shade.

So she turned fully toward Maxwell, ignoring all the other commotion of a task force returned to their regular and updated surveillance assignments.

Now that she faced him head-on, though, what Rebecca felt billowing off her Head of Security in heated waves clarified into something unexpectedly different.

He wasn’t just staring at her in curiosity or trying to overwhelm her attention until she was forced to turn pay attention to him.

Maxwell glared at her with all the promised danger and threat of confrontation the shifter normally reserved for others.

Others like Rowan Blackmoon, but not Rebecca.

Never quite like this.

On top of that, now that they faced each other, what she’d thought she’d felt from him became infinitely more complicated in the span of a single second.

There was still suspicion there, yes, but the threads of deeper anger, distrust, and confusion flavored it differently—combined with the unending longing underlying damn near everything they did, growing stronger with every decreasing inch of distance between them.

The intensity of Maxwell’s tumultuous emotions nearly bowled Rebecca over.

She couldn’t tell if she hid it well enough or not, with her senses so skewed by Maxwell’s closeness and the fact that it felt like he wanted to either kiss her or kill her.

“What?” she snapped. It wasn’t the best way to start a conversation, but his juxtaposing emotions and the war she felt waging inside him instantly piqued her defenses.

The shifter didn’t even blink.

“What is it, Hannigan?” she tried again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’ve…caught me off guard. The additional notice about Blackmoon.”

Well at least he hadn’t started with an accusation, but that didn’t make this conversation any easier.

His scowl darkened. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

“It wasn’t relevant before,” Rebecca blurted. “Now it is, and now everyone knows about it. Excuse me.”

She broke away from him, not entirely sure where she was headed or how she would try to cover up that lack of direction, but she had to leave him.

This was a terrible idea. They couldn’t have this conversation. She couldn’t trust him not to use whatever answers she gave him against her somewhere down the line.

It was too much.

A sharp pain bloomed across her back as she tried to leave him, but a second later, the pain eased beneath the immediate pleasure of that dark hold drawing her closer.

Then Maxwell appeared at her side again, dipping his head toward her ear while she walked aimlessly across the common room.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he growled.

Rebecca pushed herself to keep moving, no matter what. “Well then please, Hannigan, say what you mean. Right now, I don’t have the time to play Guess What the Shifter Meant every time we exchange more than two words.”

Yikes.

This prickliness wasn’t part of the plan, but Rebecca didn’t do well under pressure.

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