33. Chapter 33
33
N o matter how much sleep she’d gotten or how many breaks she took, Rebecca couldn’t crawl out from under the overwhelm of information, tasks, duties, reports, and conversations assaulting her from all sides over the next two days.
Everything felt like it was happening all at once, and she could do nothing to stop it.
It felt like every hour, a member of her newly formed Shade council found Rebecca wherever she was, most of the time in her office, to apprise her of new developments and update her on previously established assignments.
But because she’d specifically requested updates of everything, even the tiniest detail, in the aftermath of Shade’s battle at Harkennr’s warehouse, she couldn’t very well change her mind and tell everyone to stop. She’d literally asked for it.
Now, she felt she had even less time to herself than before, if that was possible. She didn’t spend that time wondering about the battle’s resolution and results. She’d been so concerned for Maxwell—praying to old gods and new and everything in between that he made it through the worst of his necessary recovery—she’d been oblivious to everything else happening around her that night. Her council helped her fill in the blanks.
In addition to the thirty abducted civilians they’d intercepted from the initial transport convoys that night as originally planned, they’d successfully liberated another one hundred and three from Harkennr’s warehouse. Now, they worked on planning and implementing new ways to help those civilians either leave the city to get back home or stay here in Chicago to rebuild their lives after enduring such a horrible ordeal.
The teams had also acquired a significant number of new magitek weapons from the warehouse, as well as various devices, machinery, and combat equipment they hadn’t seen before. Rick and Whit were quite busy now with their own selected teams, working to figure out how these acquisitions functioned and how best to put them to use within Shade operations.
On top of that, Rick brought her an intel report of anything and everything his team had picked up so far regarding public knowledge of the attack on the warehouse and Harkennr’s ensuing response to it, which was basically nothing.
Good news for Shade so far. Either Harkennr wasn’t yet aware of what had happened, or he knew and wanted to keep the blow to his operation silent amidst Chicago’s various magical channels for now.
It wouldn’t last long, though. Harkennr would eventually suspect Rebecca and Shade of such a daring move, if he hadn’t already confirmed it. It was just a matter of time before he decided on the best way to retaliate.
They had to be ready for his response, and they would be.
For the time being, though, all was quiet when it came to Kordus Harkennr. Rebecca intended to take advantage of however long this unexpected peacefulness lasted.
“We’re keeping an ear to the ground, though,” Rick added at the end of his report,. “Twenty-four-seven. If there’s any word out there about Harkennr, you’ll be the first to know, boss. I promise.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Rebecca leaned back in her office chair and nodded at the blackhorn standing on the other side of it. “Is there anything else?”
“Not for now.”
“Thanks for the update, Rick.”
“Anytime.” With a final dip of his head, Rick turned around to head for the door.
It seemed most of her operatives and everyone on her new council had gotten the hang of reading their Roth-Da’al’s cues. Rebecca rarely had to verbally dismiss anyone, which was what she preferred.
When Rick reached the door, though, a last-minute question popped into her mind and almost made her feel guilty for not having thought of it sooner. “Just one more thing.”
Rick spun around to face her with a smile. “What do you need, boss?”
“I haven’t heard anything from Blackmoon. Has anyone seen him?”
Rick’s smile faded, though he put on a good show of trying to call it back. “Actually, no. Not that I know of. I don’t think anyone’s seen him since the end of the battle that night. Pretty sure he’s M.I.A.”
Though she’d already expected that answer deep down, hearing it sent a heavy weight sinking in her gut. “If he shows up, please let me know.”
“Will do, boss. Anything else?”
“No, not for now, Rick. Thanks.”
The blackhorn slipped out of her office, closed the door behind him, and Rebecca was left alone in her private office on the second floor to mull over the heaps of information she’d received over the last forty hours.
She’d barely had time to put any serious thought to the detailed updates her council had been bringing her, but now that she’d asked about Rowan, her thoughts automatically turned to him and stuck.
He was gone. M.I.A. Disappeared from Shade, as far as anyone knew. Just like he’d disappeared after helping Rebecca and saving Maxwell’s life. She hadn’t had the chance to genuinely thank him for it or to ask what he’d meant with his final words to her.
“This whole time… I had it all wrong.”
Now he’d disappeared, and Rebecca didn’t know how she felt about it.
Besides, that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? To get rid of Rowan that night, to remove him from the playing field by manufacturing a legitimate reason to kick him out of Shade, based not on her own feelings toward him but on his performance in the field.
It hadn’t gone exactly the way she’d planned, but the results are the same anyway. Shouldn’t she be relieved?
She thought she would have been. Now, though, after he’d helped her and after the way he’d disappeared, Rebecca worried more about what Rowan was up to at that moment, now that he’d decided on his own to finally leave her and Shade alone.
What was he doing out there now? Who had he hunted down for a new alliance? Who was he talking to? How many Shade secrets—or even Rebecca’s secrets—was Rowan spilling?
Clearly, he’d felt wronged by her enough to slip off into the night like that, but his response remained impossible to predict.
The possibilities were endless and unknown, and the thought of all the damage Rowan could do if he really set his mind to it made her sick to her stomach.
Then again, the Blackmoon Elf might have gone straight back to the Gateway and Xahar’áhsh, with his tail between his legs and to lick his proverbial wounds, after his own solo mission had clearly failed. If , of course, he’d been honest with her and had crossed into this world of his own choosing instead of the Bloodshadow Court sending him to find her.
Worst of all, when it came to Rowan, Rebecca couldn’t tell anymore what was real and what was an elaborate lie. Without discussing it with him, without being able to trust him, she would never truly know anyway. Maybe that was for the best.
A swift, no-nonsense knock on the door ripped her from her thoughts.
“Come in,” Rebecca called and straightened in her chair.
How weird it was to see the door opening on its own from the other side, without Maxwell there at his regular post beside the door to open it.
The door swung open all the way before bouncing gently off the adjacent wall. Then Zida took two quick, shuffling steps into the room before she stopped. “I was gonna ask if you’re busy, but from the looks of it right now, you must be bored out of your damn mind.”
Rebecca offered the healer a wry smile. “Then please tell me you’ve got something to save me from it.”
“Pretty sure I do.” The healer’s beady black eyes narrowed as her wrinkled lips puckered and she diligently watched Rebecca’s reaction. “He’s awake.”
By the Blood…
Rebecca tried to rise from her chair and almost fell out of it before she plopped back down to get a hold of herself. “When?”
“About ten minutes ago, give or take.” Zida shrugged. “I wanted to make sure it stuck before I said anything.”
“And?” she prompted, both terrified of and desperate for the answer. “How is he?”
“Well, he ain’t dead,” the healer said with a snort. “Thanks to you, I gather. Plus, he knows his own name, and he’s talking, so I’d say he’s pretty fucking a-okay.”
“Enough for visitors?”
“I sure as shit wouldn’t have waddled my ass up all those stairs just to tell you to stay away, I can tell you that much.” The healer chuckled. “Yeah, kid. You can come down and see him whenever you want. Honestly, it’d probably do him more good than anything else. You too. You look like shit.”
Sinking back against her chair, Rebecca huffed out a laugh and let the relief and gratitude rush through her for as long as it took before she could stand without trembling. “Then I’ll come by. Thanks for climbing all those stairs just to let me know.”
“Uh-huh.” Zida brushed down the front of her loose, baggy dress and scoffed. “But so you know, in the future, I’ll just pick up the damn phone instead. This is a one-time courtesy. Don’t get used to it.”
The healer shuffled back through the door without another word, but Rebecca gave herself a moment to let the news fully sink in.
She’d hoped for Maxwell’s quick and easy recovery, though she admittedly hadn’t expected it so soon. He’d been unconscious for two days. She hadn’t dared hope he might come around as early as this. Still, she couldn’t have been more grateful for it.
She also couldn’t quite let herself believe this was real.
Maxwell was in the clear and would pull through without issue. The disappointment of finding out down the road that she hadn’t saved him, that she’d only made things worse, was too painful to consider.
Maintaining a little skepticism would protect her from the heartbreak of such an unlikely but still possible scenario. After all, she hadn’t been able to heal him on her own without Rowan’s help. It could have been because his injuries had simply been too severe, or it could have been something about shifters or Maxwell specifically.
Or maybe the frustratingly unexplained connection between them had blocked her abilities and required Rowan’s help to save the shifter.
Whatever the reason, though, Maxwell was still here. Still in recovery but awake, well enough to speak. If his injuries had caused any serious and concerning side effects, Zida would have said something.
She had to see him.
Not wanting to seem desperate to either Zida or Maxwell, Rebecca forced herself to stay in her office another ten minutes. It was almost longer than she could bear.
At the ten-minute mark, though, she was back on her feet without trembling, though her heart fluttered in her chest as she crossed the room to head down to the compound’s infirmary.
Never in her life had she been this excited, this jittery with nerves and hope and a healthy dose of lowered expectations she’d imposed on herself, to hear someone wasn’t dead.
But with Maxwell Hannigan, things were different. Everything was different.
W hen Rebecca reached the infirmary, she didn’t have to say a word about wanting a few minutes alone with her Head of Security. Zida volunteered all on her own, griping about how hungry she was and whether Bor had finally come to his senses about taking meal orders from those who appreciated his skills.
The healer left and pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Rebecca standing there in the infirmary’s front recovery room, staring at Maxwell.
Zida had already propped up his bed to help him sit at a relaxed angle, though the sheets were pulled up almost all the way to his chin, as if he were freezing in the normally comfortable temperature.
There was no sugarcoating it. He looked awful. Dark circles under his eyes, darker bruises peeking out from beneath the sheet—on his shoulder and along his collarbone, with fading remnants of others dotting his arms.
He looked like someone who’d just woken up after sleeping for almost forty-eight hours. But his eyes had retained their bright silver glow, flashing intermittently as she and Maxwell stared at each other.
And, of course, that ever-present tingling warmth flaring between them again, beyond either of their control.
Rebecca had felt it again the second she’d reached the bottom landing of the stairs, and the sensation had only intensified as she’d approached the infirmary.
Now, that dark, ancient, inexplicable pull toward the shifter called to her more fiercely than ever, tugging at her core, beckoning her ever closer.
If she’d ever truly believed the connection was only a figment of her imagination, those doubts would have left her now.
This was absolutely real, everything she felt even just standing here across the room while Maxwell lie in a recovery bed.
She didn’t have to know what it was or why it existed between them to know it was absolutely real.
“Hey.” The greeting sounded flat and insufficient in the infirmary’s silence, but how the hell else was she supposed to start a conversation, given the circumstances?
The flicker of a tired smile at the corners of his mouth made her heart leap into her throat.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come right away,” he said, his voice scratchy and hoarse, though she’d honestly expected him to sound much worse. “You must be busy with debriefings and new plans…”
“Actually, that’s pretty much been taken care of by everyone else.” After taking a slow step forward, she stopped herself again. “Plus, I couldn’t come up with a good reason to make you wait.”
Maxwell snorted, then immediately cringed when at the pain it caused. “Well, I appreciate you taking the time anyway. After…everything else.”
He coughed, winced, and tried to cover it up by shifting his position on the bed.
Finally, Rebecca couldn’t fight the urge to go to him any longer, smiling softly because she didn’t want to worry him by looking worried for him.
And honestly, she was too relieved to see him up and conscious and so clearly lucid not to smile.
As she approached the bedside, that same tingling flare of attraction and need and rightness only intensified, just like she knew it would, until she was sure another hot flush had risen in her cheeks. This time, though, she didn’t care whether he saw it.
“You really had me worried there for a minute, Maxie.”
As soon as she said it, she kicked herself for slipping into using the nickname she knew he hated. She hadn’t intended to drive him nuts with it the way she had every other time she’d called him something other than his name on purpose.
But to her surprise, he responded with a smile, as if he suddenly found her nicknames both endearing and amusing.
Not a bad sign, all things considered.
“Well, I hope you can believe me when I say the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. Even through worry.”
She stopped beside the bed, overwhelmed by the ferocity of that tingling heat overwhelming her now that she was so close to him again. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, but then she finally whispered, “I believe you.”
Maxwell closed his eyes with a long, heavy sigh through his nose—either in a lot more pain than he let on or in overwhelming relief.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. If he was still in a lot of pain, decent conversation or small talk might serve as a welcome distraction.
Except she’d asked a question directly related to his comfort levels instead.
That was stupid.
Maxwell sighed again and opened his eyes, their silver glow brighter than before. His gaze settled instantly on her face again. “I certainly feel alive. Thanks to you.”
The way he looked at her filled her with the overwhelming urge to leap at him, throw her arms around his neck, and confess to how many of her waking hours in the last two days she’d spent willing him toward a full recovery.
What a stupid thing to do. She was thousands of years old and Roth-Da’al of Shade, not some giddily blushing child.
The distinction, however, did nothing for the strengthening flare of heat and electrifying energy surging through her in a renewed wave when she leaned toward the bed by only a fraction of an inch.
His gaze lingered on her face with unwavering persistence, as if she were the only thing that existed in his world.
At the moment, she could have said the same of him.
“I never properly thanked you for what you did,” he said, his voice lowering toward a dark, husky growl laced with unbelievable tenderness beneath it all. “You saved my life.”
“You know, I think you did already thank me right afterwards,” she said. “Do you remember what you told me?”
Part of her didn’t want him to remember. From a professional standpoint, and after all the pains she’d taken for so long not to let herself get close to anyone, Maxwell’s final declaration at the warehouse before he’d lost consciousness was highly embarrassing for both of them.
On a personal level, though, she desperately wanted it to be real. For him to remember what he’d told her, because how could anyone forget a promise that significant?
Maxwell studied her a moment longer, letting her linger in suspended anticipation that only made her heart beat that much faster in her chest and her pulse rush that much louder in her ears.
“I remember,” he finally murmured. “And I meant every word.”
She didn’t know how to feel about that. Too many emotions crashed around inside her to immediately separate the ones she wanted to keep from those she could have done without.
He remembered that vow—the life debt he’d declared he owed her. Now it felt real.
Without thinking, Rebecca lowered herself to the edge of the bed to sit beside him, just to be closer, unaware that her body moved on its own without permission from her mind. The flaring energy between them constantly tugging and prompting and luring.
“Glad to know your memory’s still intact too,” she said, drowning in his gaze. She couldn’t have pulled away from now to save her life. “To be clear, though, I know sometimes people say things in a moment that might not seem like such a great idea later on. Even if they meant it at the time.”
Frowning, Maxwell tilted his head and readjusted himself against the pillows propped up behind him.
She thought he’d moved just a little closer to her, but it could have been wishful thinking. That had become the norm with her Head of Security in a variety of ways, though not always.
His frown softened, and it looked like he was on the verge of laughing when he raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say?”
She pressed her lips together before realizing she was staring at his.
“I just wanna make it clear,” she said, surprised by how breathless she sounded but unable to change it, “I didn’t do it because I wanted something from you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t owe me a thing.”
“Rebecca…”
Once again, her name on his lips sent a shudder of pleasure rippling down her spine. Only when it faded did she realize he’d taken her hand in both of his, where the electrifying rush between them surged like an electrical storm.
“I don’t make promises I do not intend to keep,” he said. “Nor do I make them lightly. I should have died at that warehouse. You brought me back. My life is yours. Forever.”
By the Blood, she’d never imagined five simple words could make her feel anything like this, let alone so powerfully.
He’d doubled down on his promise without the added pressure of being on death’s door.
A certain magic existed in Maxwell’s vow—a kind of magic Rebecca hadn’t felt in a lifetime and had come to believe no longer existed.
The last time someone else had sworn his life to her, it had come from her best friend as a comfort and a declaration of support and solidarity. From Rowan, it had come partially as a joke, despite how much she knew he’d meant it then.
But from Maxwell, it was entirely different. It was more all-encompassing, a vow he took willingly to bind their fates indelibly until one of them met their end.
He’d given himself to her in a way no one else ever could.
A thrill of realization—equal parts terrifying and exhilarating—rushed through her when she realized she would accept this promise from him in a way she’d never accepted anything from anyone. Because now she finally could.
Because now she wanted to.