Page 34 of Elven Throne

Where that fucking rune on his chest had truly come from, andwhyit was there.

She could have sworn she felt that ancient elven mark pulsing on his chest with its own nefarious rhythm.

That tiny thread of lingering doubt was enough to keep her from total submission.

Maxwell didn’t seem to notice her continuing struggle, his hands still pressed so gently against her cheeks, the surprising softness of his palms nearly searing her flesh.

“How did you survive something like that?” he asked, pressing himself against her even harder, as if it would squeeze the answer out of her. “How could anyone?”

She’d lost the ability to move now. Too late to slip away from this, or to shove him away just so she could get a full breath.

How had she survived the devastating bomb Zida’s greatest power had become?

She swallowed and hardly heard the words flowing from between her lips. “Most of your questions seem to have the same answer lately.”

He dipped his head even closer. It could have been a nod, or he might have still been fighting this pull, knowing just as well as she did what happened when they let themselves get close enough for this thing between them to take over.

When they willingly relinquished even a fraction of their will to its hold.

But she felt the understanding in him even before he voiced it.

“Because of who you are,” he breathed.

It wasn’t a question.

“Basically,” she whispered. “Yes.”

She had to stop this before it went any further.

Whatever this thing was pulling them together, it had almost seized every ounce of control from her once before, during one kiss in the infirmary.

Imagine what it might do now, both of them on their feet and uninjured, no immediate excuses to make them pull away…

Rebecca’s gaze dropped on its own to Maxwell’s chest and landed on the edge of the black-inked rune still peeking out from beneath the unbuttoned side of his open shirt.

She couldn’t figure out why her fingers tingled so fiercely with every possible sensation—heat and cold. bitter sharpness and tantalizing softness,; repulsion and desire. All at the same time.

Until she realized she had already lifted her hand to Maxwell’s chest and now traced her fingers so achingly close to the damn rune across the rise of his hardened muscle.

Close to the edge of the black mark, but no farther.

Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to touch it directly.

But in that moment, she knew the secret behind this mark, on this shifter, was the key to answering every question either of them could possibly raise.

She didn’t want to touch it now, but she couldn’t make herself stop touchinghim.

Was any of this even real?

“I’m starting to think we might have more in common than either of us is willing to admit.”

Maxwell sucked in a startlingly sharp breath and grimaced, as if the brush of her fingers across his chest had burned him.

With a hint of golden light flashing at the edges of the black mark, right there at her fingertips.

Before she could be sure, he grabbed her wrist—not forcefully enough to hurt her but merely to draw her finger away from his chest.

And just like that, he had her full attention again, without having to share it between himself and the elven rune he understood as little as she did.

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