Elven Lies (Court of Rebellion #3)

34. Chapter 34

34

A s she sat on the side of his bed—jolts of electric familiarity and need and belonging flaring up through her fingers intertwined with his, blazing up through every part of her, inside and out, known and unknown—Rebecca let herself fall into him.

Into this thing between them.

The mystery of it and the rightness she could explain no more than she could explain how she’d been the one Bloodshadow Elf in countless generations to manifest the prophesied power for which her people had watched and waited over thousands of years.

It just was .

She felt it everywhere, lost in it, propelled by it, no longer separate from it.

“ I am yours.” Maxwell’s voice carried toward her as if from within a dream. As if entire worlds spanned the space between them, when in reality, this world between them, just the two of them, was all that existed.

She felt herself moving but knew neither when she’d decided to nor when she’d lost control over any of it.

Maxwell’s hand burned around hers. The scent of moonlight, dewy grass, earth, and steady strength and nothing else this time surrounded her.

Rebecca submitted to all of it, not by choice but because there was no other option. Not for her.

Because she wanted to.

Then Maxwell’s lips were on hers, opening to her, inviting her in, setting her lips and tongue and breath ablaze as if she’d swallowed fire.

The kind of fire she’d been searching for all her life and never even knew…

Then something changed.

Something joined them.

She’d felt it before, like a third presence and a new entity, separate from both her and Maxwell but not independent of them. Existing only when they were close, like this.

She noticed its existence right away, and yet the strength of that third presence, that something else , continued to grow.

It was there with them through every brush of Maxwell’s lips against hers, with every breath they shared, urging Rebecca forward, closer, farther, deeper with every second, but not like before.

Until now, she’d been drawn toward Maxwell with increasing intensity over time. But this felt as if this third presence had been split between them somehow. Like the half of it inside her recognized the half of it inside him and now surged forward on its own to seize, as if to pull that missing piece right out of the shifter.

Rebecca was no longer in control of that new presence too powerful to ignore, too promising to deny.

Need and hunger and a desire to claim and consume raced through her. Urging her to keep going. Challenging her to stop, if she dared risk what would happen when she did.

This thing inside them both pulled at them for who knew how long until, somehow, Rebecca’s awareness returned to her and she realized what she was doing.

She was kissing Maxwell. In his recovery bed in the infirmary. And he was kissing her back.

None of this was why she’d come down here to see him in the first place…

She broke away, ending the kiss that hadn’t yet become anything more and catching her breath with her mind reeling.

How the hell had that happened?

She drew another shaking inhale and opened her eyes to find Maxwell’s silver gaze on her already.

By the Blood, what was wrong with her?

The realization mortified her, and at the same time, she couldn’t help but want more.

Undoubtedly, she was not in the right frame of mind to judge what she wanted against what was best.

She leaned away, the moment interrupted and now gone, and blurted, “I didn’t mean to—”

“That wasn’t what I—” Maxwell said at the same time, looking just as stunned.

There was no turning back now, no misinterpreting what had just happened, no matter who had instigated it—her or him or that other thing within them both, whatever it was.

No more pretending that what they each had been feeling for weeks now might not actually exist for the other.

Rebecca could see it in his eyes, right there alongside the confusion. Maxwell knew there was something there, something different. That he could name it no more than she could.

With seemingly no more walls between them in the moment, Rebecca went for it. “You felt all of that, didn’t you?”

“All of—” The raspiness of his voice made him stop, clear his throat, and try again. “All of what?”

“Don’t. You can quit pretending, Hannigan. Hell, I’m ready to quit with you. This thing between us, this feeling … I need to know it’s not just me.”

“It’s not.”

He said it so firmly, with such a calm certainty of what he seemed to have already accepted, that Rebecca wondered how she could ever have thought this was all in her head.

She studied him, searching for hidden cues or a sign of underlying doubts he didn’t want to share, and found nothing. “How long?”

Maxwell swallowed before immediately answering as if it had been at the top of his thoughts for days. “Since Hector’s attack on the compound. That I know of.”

Since the day she’d fought Hector’s homunculi and poisoned herself. The day Maxwell had eliminated Hector as a threat, permanently. The day Rebecca had killed Aldous in self-defense.

So many things had happened that day, and it would be impossible to tell which of them, if any, had started this.

But now that he’d mentioned the specific day, yes, that was the day it had started for her too.

She opened her mouth to ask another question, had to pause to gather her racing thoughts into something resembling lucid speech, and tried again. “Can you feel…”

“Everything,” he finished for her, speaking more openly and without the usual walls or stony mask. There was no way he could have been making this up.

“I feel everything,” he repeated. “Where you are. When you look my way. Where you intend to go before you’ve even moved. Recently, I think I’ve started to feel…”

“Emotions,” Rebecca finished for him this time. “Reactions. Sometimes a thought but not in words. Just more of…”

“An image. And a feeling. Neither of which belong to me. Or, at least, they didn’t at first.”

This was incredible.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined sitting down with Maxwell Hannigan, alone, confessing to each other the details of what they’d each been going through separately, yet together this whole time.

She almost couldn’t believe this conversation was even happening. That he’d opened up to her like this, without hesitation, without leaving anything out. As if he’d given up trying to hide anything from her anymore.

As if he physically couldn’t anymore.

“Well then, it’s a good thing we don’t hate each other’s guts, right?” she asked through an uncertain laugh.

That same flicker of amusement pulled at the corners of his mouth, and his silver eyes flashed at her again. “I agree.”

Of course he agreed now.

If she’d known it would be this easy to get him on her side, she would have tried it a long time ago.

The thought almost made her laugh, but she managed to hold it back. “Any idea what this is?”

By the time the words were out, though, she already knew the answer.

“None whatsoever.” Then Maxwell dipped his gaze toward his hands in his lap, which both still held Rebecca’s between them.

It hardly registered that he still held onto her like this. Because now, Rebecca had, if not proof, then at least confirmation. Whatever this was between them—with them, because of them—it was real.

Somehow, it felt like a far easier and more meaningful mystery to solve than all the others surrounding her now.

“Whatever this is,” she said, “I’ll figure it out. Then we’ll know more.”

Maxwell looked up at her again, as if waking from a dream, and slowly tilted his head. “If you think it’ll make a difference…”

What was that supposed to mean?

Of course it would make a difference. Knowledge always made a difference. That was the point of having it.

Now felt like the wrong time to try to explain it to him. He was still in recovery. Nearly everything was up in the air at this point—except, of course, whether she and Maxwell had been living the same experience around each other.

They had. She knew that much.

Better to leave it alone for now. There was such a thing as too many epiphanies in one day, and he’d barely been conscious for half an hour.

With a tight smile that had to look as tired as she felt, Rebecca gently pulled her fingers free of his grasp, ignoring the painful ache in her core brought on by that physical separation. She’d been ignoring that pain for days. There was no reason to stop now.

“I should let you rest,” she told him, sliding off the edge of his bed and back to her feet, which felt surprisingly sturdy and stable beneath her. “We can talk later.”

“Thank you, Rebecca.”

Despite everything between them, especially now, the way he thanked her—the way he said her name—made her face flush hot. Though whether her cheeks burned from embarrassment or pleasure, she couldn’t tell. Maybe a bit of both.

What was this?

She turned away to hide the blush she couldn’t control. “You’ll be out of here in no time. Just wait.”

“Just one more thing,” he said. “If you’ll allow it.”

She paused, afraid now of what might happen if she stayed here too long with him, alone. Afraid of getting drawn into that connection again, or of losing control completely and forever next time. If there ever was a next time.

But she finally turned back toward him and nodded. “What is it?”

“Would you mind bringing me some water?” He nodded toward the nearly full pitcher on the cabinet counter across the room.

His request seemed so random, even though it wasn’t. Rebecca chuckled and headed straight before the pitcher. “Absolutely.”

She couldn’t deny him that, and he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need it.

Right?

She quickly filled a plastic cup for him, listening to the rustle of Maxwell shifting positions in the bed and the soft squeak of the frame beneath his changing weight.

When she turned to face him again, he’d propped himself farther upright against the pillows until he almost sat straight up in bed. Whether the sheets that had been pulled up to his chin when she’d arrived had fallen down off his chest just now or at some point during that kiss she still couldn’t believe was real, Rebecca only now noticed it for the first time.

Dark, splotchy bruises still covered his chest, and a tight bandage wrapped multiple times around his torso where he’d cracked multiple ribs. It seemed a miracle he could even breathe at all.

His injuries had undoubtedly been so much worse in the beginning, but she’d helped put the worst of it right again, hadn’t she?

She’d taken two steps toward his bed before her gaze fell on the dark patch of skin on his upper right pectoral muscle. The shape she’d thought she’d seen only in the semi-darkness when the shifter had found other excuses to walk around shirtless.

This time, though, beneath the infirmary’s bright lights and with nothing else around to play tricks on her mind, Rebecca saw the mark on his chest clearly and without impediment.

The plastic cup slipped from her fingers and toppled to the floor with a thunk and echoing clatter, splashing water all over her feet and calves.

The interruption made her jump, ripping her back to the present before she looked down at the empty cup on the floor and stepped out of the spilled puddle.

“Shit,” she murmured breathlessly. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Let me fill this up again.”

How the hell had her voice not been shaking after that?

She scooped up the cup, hurried back to the counter, and filled it again in a rush.

This time, she made it back to Maxwell’s bedside with his water intact and handed it to him, summoning every ounce of willpower not to look at his chest in the light. Or ever.

“Thank you.” He took his water but was already frowning at her, as if he could see right through her and into everything in her head at this moment.

“No problem. Now get more rest, okay? That’s the only thing you should worry about now. I’ll check on you again later.”

She spun around to head for the door, wanting nothing more than to get out of this room so she could stop pretending she wasn’t losing her mind.

“Rebecca.”

Blue Hells. She’d be hopeless against him if he kept calling her by name like that.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Maxwell looked her up and down as he set his water on the rolling tray serving as a nightstand beside his bed. “What’s wrong?”

She reached into the deep well of her own ability to mask almost anything and conjured another small smile that wasn’t entirely false. “I’m just beat.”

He didn’t look like he believed a single word of it. Not about her just being tired, anyway.

Now that they’d spoken for the first time about their odd connection, Rebecca was sure he could feel something was wrong.

She had to get out of here.

“I am glad to see you’re awake,” she added for good measure.

After staring at her a moment longer, Maxwell finally seemed to give in. “So am I.”

That was all she could handle.

Rebecca scurried out of the infirmary and down the hall toward her private room in the compound’s residential wing, oblivious to anyone who might have passed her in the halls.

Because she could only think of one thing, and that one thing terrified her. Especially if she was right.

But she had to be sure.

She nearly ripped the door off its hinges before barreling into her room and locking it behind her with a quick locking spell sparking yellow first at her fingertip, then around the doorknob.

Then she turned her room upside down in a flurry, searching anywhere and everywhere for the single bit of proof she didn’t want to find.

Her bedclothes flew in all directions around the room, followed by articles of clothing from the standing dresser as she rifled through them one at a time before giving up.

She searched desperately between the mattress and the box spring, shook out every bath towel and hand towel hanging in the connected bathroom, and shook out every pair of shoes she owned.

Rebecca had worked herself up into such a frenzy after only ten minutes, the idea of blasting her private room to pieces just to make this easier surged through her mind. Then she rounded her bed and dropped to the floor on all fours to search beneath it.

“Holy shit. There you are,” she murmured, then stretched her arm out beneath the bed as far as it would go until the solid, smooth, cool weight of what she’d been looking for settled between her fingers.

She pulled it out and sat on the floor beside her bed, panting to catch her breath. Feeling the weight of the old rune-inscribed bone tile Rowan had given her—to remind her of “their vow”—clenched tightly in her fist.

Maybe it would be better to just get rid of this thing now, without looking. To throw it away like a dirty secret. Blow it up. Burn it. Flush it down the toilet. Then she’d never have to think about it again.

But that wasn’t true.

If she didn’t see for herself now—if she didn’t know for sure—she wouldn’t stop thinking about it until she found another way to confirm what she desperately hoped couldn’t be confirmed.

She had to know…

Her fingers trembled as she uncurled them to reveal Rowan’s bone tile in her open palm. The light, off-white bone etched with old-world runes representing both Bloodshadow and Blackmoon Clans. Representing Agn’a Tha’ros and the Bloodshadow Court and the prophecies that had governed them all for millennia.

Representing who Rebecca had once thought she would become, though not anymore.

It took her another two minutes before she worked up the fortitude to turn that bone tile over in her hand. When she finally did, she nearly chucked it across the room again.

There it was, right there in front of her, etched in bone from the old world. The single rune that turned her stomach to look at now, because she’d just seen it somewhere else minutes before.

The same rune, right here on this bone tile, she now knew was also tattooed on Maxwell’s upper right pectoral muscle.

There was no doubt about it. She wasn’t seeing things. They were absolutely the same.

It didn’t make any sense. Less sense than the two of them having formed some unbreakable connection with each other neither of them understood.

How the hell did Maxwell Hannigan have a tattoo on his chest that matched an old-world elven rune straight from the Bloodshadow Court in Agn’a Tha’ros?

Forget that they were on Earth, or that they had entirely different backgrounds, or that they were already so vastly different from each other. Forget any bit of history between them. It would have been just as mind-boggling for anyone else who didn’t know or share some part of Rebecca’s past to have one of these runes permanently inked on their skin.

Almost.

To make it even stranger and more impossible was that Maxwell was a shifter, not an elf.

How could he have possibly come by a rune like that, with so much meaning to who she’d been before she’d ever stepped foot in Chicago?

Rebecca couldn’t imagine Maxwell as the kind of guy to choose a tattoo simply because it looked cool. It had to mean something.

But what the fuck could it mean?

Her mind reeled as she thumped back against the wall and stayed there, sitting on the floor, turning the bone tile over and over in her hands.

Where did this alarming connection between Maxwell Hannigan and the Bloodshadow Court come from? How had that happened?

Was it really nothing but a coincidence and she was blowing this whole thing out of proportion? Or was it worse than that?

Did that rune on his chest mean something to him ?

She couldn’t tell up from down anymore as she circled through the same few questions over and over. None of them offered an answer before each led immediately to the next, over and over again.

After all she’d been through with Maxwell, she’d finally come to truly believe she could trust him. That she might have wanted to. But was it real?

Did she trust him after something like this? Was the rune on his chest a sign that he was on her side? That her desire to let him in, to trust him and let him see her for who she was, hadn’t been manipulated? That he was safe?

Or had the shifter been playing her all along, not merely for his own aims but because, like the thralls of Azyyt Ra’al, he’d been marked as a spy for the other side?

Of all her enemies in this world and Xahar’áhsh trying to destroy the Bloodshadow bloodline and every thread of its legacy?

Worst of all, Rebecca had no idea what she was supposed to do with new information like this. No idea who she could turn to about it.

Her only certainty was that she’d discovered that tattoo on Maxwell’s chest far too late.

Because now, she realized, she’d already started to fall for him.

And even her most powerful Bloodshadow magic couldn’t fix that at the last second.

What happens to Rebecca and Maxwell's connection—and all the new threats to Shade—after this?

Find out in Elven Prince : Court of Rebellion Book 4.