Page 47 of Elven Throne

Shewas the Roth Da’al, after all. If anyone should put themselves on the line for Shade, it was her. If she had to shoulder that burden for him, so be it.

Especially when the shifter seemed so adamantly convinced that whatever existed behind this door would be his own death sentence.

After several seconds of waiting in tense silence, Rebecca stepped forward, stopped at Maxwell’s side, and lifted a fist toward the door, fully intending to knock on it herself.

She hardly saw him move.

His hand became an instant blur before it settled firmly but gently around her fist to stop her.

Rebecca froze and sent him a questioning look.

The shifter shook his head and, almost too softly to hear, muttered, “It has to be me.”

“If you were Roth Da’al,” Rebecca replied in a hushed voice, “I’d agree with you. We’re both responsible for every magical standing behind us, but unless everything else has changed, I still outrank you, Hannigan.”

“Rank has nothing to do with it,” he whispered, once again overcome by the vacant expression she’d only seen once before—the last time his face had lost all color during his private conversation with Bor. Just as it did now.

Then he released her wrist and fixed her with the saddest, worn-down gaze she’d seen on survivors in small Xaharí villages ransacked by any number of cruel warlords moving across the devastated landscape.

But not on him. Not on Maxwell Hannigan.

What, exactly, were they walking into?

“Notyourrank, anyway,” he added, averting his gaze again. “Even as Roth Da’al. That means…nothing here.”

That made no sense whatsoever. Everything she knew about him centered around duty and loyalty and a deeply ferocious respect for the chain of command.

None of which applied here?

Then it hit her.

This was ashifterthing, wasn’t it? That was the only explanation that made any sense.

Maxwell was Shade’s only shifter, as Rebecca was its only elf. Admittedly, she knew little to nothing about the world of his race.

The realization planted in her a tiny seed of guilt for having pushed him despite his refusal to share any other details about this place or why it made him react this way.

At the same time, she bristled at the idea that everything she’d worked for, with Shade andforShade, could all be undone and so unfeelingly swept under the rug in a place like this.

Where her command as the Roth Da’al of a privatized magical task force based in Chicago meant absolutely nothing.

But it made sense. The world of shifters might have been the only place where the old laws and customs of Xahar’áhsh had no meaning and held no sway.

She had to relent and defer to Maxwell on this, because they’d entered a world she didn’t know and therefore couldn’t comprehend.

Leaning toward him, she muttered, “Understood. But just so you know, I’m not gonna hide behind you just to make this work.”

“You won’t have to.” Maxwell inhaled deeply, then sighed it all out again.

Hesitant acceptance and a fledgling determination joined the overwhelming blend of his intensely complicated emotions crashing over and through Rebecca, wave after wave.

Then he rolled his shoulders back, looked up at the door again, and raised a fist to finally knock on the door.

He didn’t get the chance.

The door swung open before he’d even touched it.

14

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