Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
T wo days passed, marked by the gentle rhythm of healing and increasingly restless energy. Thora had recovered with remarkable speed, but Eira’s strict orders—reinforced by Willow’s healing mandates—had kept her confined to the cabin.
Artair finished a business call on the porch, sliding his phone into his pocket as he stepped back inside. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight before him.
Thora stood at the window, tension visible in every line of her body. Sunlight streamed through the glass, catching in her dark hair and illuminating subtle auburn highlights he hadn’t noticed before. Her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against her thigh as she stared outside, clearly longing for freedom.
In just two days, he’d cataloged dozens of her small habits. How she rubbed her thumb across her fingers when thinking. How she tilted her head slightly to the right when suspicious. How she always tested the temperature of her coffee with her pinkie before taking the first sip.
The women he’d dated in the past had been easy to understand—most wanted his money, his status, or the prestige of a Maxen connection. Their motivations transparent, their behavior predictable.
Thora remained a mystery. She bristled at luxury but appreciated quality. Rejected help but offered it freely to others. Maintained fierce independence while risking her life to protect him—a virtual stranger at the time.
She turned at the sound of his footsteps, amber eyes narrowing. “How much longer am I under house arrest?”
“It’s not arrest. It’s medical recovery.” He crossed to the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for breakfast. “Omelets?”
“I could make my own breakfast at my apartment.”
“You could,” he agreed, cracking eggs into a bowl. “But my omelets come with insider information.”
Her interest sparked visibly. “About?”
“The Shadow Bazaar.” He diced peppers with practiced efficiency. “And Ajax Blackwater’s potential next move.”
Thora crossed to the kitchen island, leaning against the counter. The borrowed flannel shirt she wore—his, several sizes too large—slipped off one shoulder. The sight of her in his clothes did something primitive to his insides.
“I’m listening.” She filched a piece of cheese from the cutting board.
Artair pretended not to notice the theft, hiding his smile as he whisked the eggs. “The bazaar moves locations to avoid detection. Word is they’re setting up near Whisper Lake this week.”
“That’s where Ajax will try to offload the artifacts.” She straightened, mind clearly shifting into bounty hunter mode. The transformation fascinated him—how quickly her energy channeled from restless to focused.
“We should conduct reconnaissance,” he suggested, pouring the egg mixture into a heated pan. “Learn the territory before he shows up.”
“Agreed.” She snagged another piece of cheese, meeting his eyes with a hint of challenge. “I need to get my gear from my apartment.”
“After breakfast.” He flipped the omelet with a practiced flick of his wrist. “We’ll need to blend in. The bazaar has spotters everywhere.”
“I’ve handled underground markets before,” she said, a hint of pride coloring her voice. “The key is looking like you belong.”
He slid the finished omelet onto a plate and handed it to her. “There’s a lakeside restaurant that provides excellent cover—good vantage point, unobstructed views of all potential bazaar entry points.”
“A restaurant?” Suspicion crept into her tone.
“Best observation post in the county,” he replied innocently, starting on his own omelet. “Perfect for surveillance.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but hunger won out as she took her first bite. The small sound of appreciation she made sent a warm current through him.
“This is good,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Bear secret.”
“Let me guess—honey in the eggs?”
He laughed. “How did you know?”
“You put honey in everything.” No judgment in her voice, just observation. “Your coffee, your toast. I even spotted honey in the bathroom soap.”
The fact that she’d noticed these small details about him warmed something in his chest. Most people saw Artair Maxen, CEO and clan leader—not the man who enjoyed simple pleasures like honey in his breakfast or early morning hikes.
Thora saw him. Really saw him.
“I’ll prepare my tactical gear,” she said, polishing off the last bite. “What’s the dress code for this ‘observation post’?”
“Smart casual.” He kept his voice neutral. “Nothing that screams ‘bounty hunter on a mission.’“
She snorted. “So leave the tranquilizer gun and shifter-dampening handcuffs at home?”
“Probably wise.” He flipped his own omelet. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I can drive myself.”
“Better to arrive together. Couples draw less attention than singles at this particular venue.”
“Couples,” she repeated, testing the word.
“For surveillance purposes,” he clarified, though his bear growled at the unnecessary qualification.
Something flickered in her eyes—uncertainty, curiosity, perhaps a hint of anticipation quickly suppressed. Artair noted it all, fascinated by the brief glimpse beneath her carefully maintained control.
“Fine,” she conceded. “Six o’clock. But this is reconnaissance, not a date.”
“Of course.” He hid his smile behind his coffee mug. “Strictly professional.”