Page 48 of Elven Throne

Aninstant,cloyingrushof odors slammed into Rebecca, igniting her senses.

Cooking stew rich with meat, butter, garlic, a hodgepodge of spices, and an overwhelming overtone of freshly diced onions.

The assault on her nose made her eyes instantly water.

Then she saw the figure standing on the other side of the open door.

An older man, late fifties or early sixties. His wavy hair, fully gray, swooping in loose curls across his forehead and beside his ears. The graying scruff on his face wasn’t quite a beard, as if he’d shaved only a few days ago and had been too busy since to maintain it.

Dressed in leather work boots, jeans, and a button-down shirt, he looked exactly like what she would have expected from someone living out here on the land.

Except for the dark, slightly backlit silver eyes settling directly on Maxwell the instant he’d opened the door.

Rebecca’s first thought was that she now stared at a Maxwell Hannigan from thirty years in the future. Or at least the aging equivalent of thirty years for shifters, and she had no idea how that worked.

Despite the striking resemblance between them, however, the two men did not look at each other like family members reuniting, or even as old friends having fallen out of touch for years.

They certainly didn’t act like it.

The second that door opened, Maxwell instantly dipped his head and lowered his gaze—an alarming response from him and something Rebecca had never seen him do with anyone.

She opened her mouth to offer a greeting, maybe to help him out with the startlingly thick tension swirling around the overwhelming odors of cooking from within the farmhouse.

But the old man didn’t give her a chance.

“Thought the cookin’ might’ve gotten to me,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, and not entirely unkind. “Makin’ me imagine somethin’ that couldn’t possibly be true. Not today or any day. But it really isyou.”

The next wave of horrified determination and overwhelming defeat blasting from Maxwell almost made Rebecca reach for the exterior wall to steady herself.

It faded again at a ridiculous speed, and when she looked at Maxwell, she instantly noticed the complete lack of physical tension in his body. As if he’d gone completely limp while standing there, with his head lowered and silver eyes trained on the door’s threshold just in front of the older man’s boots.

This wasn’t just respect and deference, humbling himself to ask for help.

This was total submission. Complete and overwhelming, both inside and out.

He’d been instantly cowed by a single door opening and one older man staring at him from the other side.

What the fuckwasthis?

The older man tightened his grip on the open door and stared at Maxwell a moment longer before he spoke again. “You got some nerve showin’ your face here, boy. Not to mention settin’ foot anywhere near this property. All it takes is one fucking call…”

“The decision is yours.” Maxwell’s voice remained steady and expertly controlled in its deferential softness, and he still didn’t look up from the floor. “And I will accept it, either way.”

“What did you do?”

Maxwell said nothing, the twitch of his slightly clenched jaw barely visible now, his gazestillaverted.

This was so weird. Such an oddly formal interaction given the incredibly informal setting.

Rebecca didn’t know what to think beyond the certainty that this whole thing was immensely uncomfortable for her and for Maxwell.

The man behind the door didn’t seem affected by any of it, one way or the other.

His steady gaze remained on Maxwell before he let out a heavy, relenting sigh and shifted his weight, loosening up a little. “What do you want?”

“Asylum.” Maxwell offered a small, slow, unthreatening wave of his hand, gesturing toward the entirety of the Shade task force gathered in the front lawn behind him, the sight impossible to miss. “Refuge and shelter for those in need.”

The older man didn’t once glance at the group on his front lawn, just as he hadn’t once acknowledged Rebecca with a single look. His gaze remained solely, unnervingly settled on Maxwell. “Who will stand?”

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