9

T he enormity of Shade’s current predicament was almost more than Rebecca could bear.

They had fought so hard to do what was right. To clean up Aldous’s messes. To avenge the brutal attacks on their contact network—innocent magical civilians—by planning an admittedly clever ambush on the magical crime lords of Chicago they’d assumed were responsible.

And then they’d fought to survive the ambush by Rowan and his Hakalini’ir , their imprisonment within his force-field dome, the attack by the Azyyt Ra’al. They’re narrowly escaped it all with their lives before rushing back to Headquarters to stand against Eduardo’s horde that would have been Shade’s final downfall if it hadn’t been for several sacrifices made.

Sacrifices that had almost cost far too much.

Rebecca’s operatives were exhausted, devastated, homeless, damn near hopeless, barely hanging on, and Rebecca had no other tricks hidden up her sleeves.

Nowhere left to go. No last-minute Hail Marys to help them when they needed it most.

She’d done everything she could, and still , she hovered on the verge of letting them all down.

For good this time.

The operatives had all dispersed to spread the harrowing news to the rest of the task force and collect even the most unlikely suggestions for Shade’s next safe refuge—if one even existed.

But Maxwell remained perfectly still at Rebecca’s side.

Frenetic energy thrummed through the shifter and into Rebecca, as if standing here any longer, doing nothing even for a few seconds longer, might make him explode.

They’d all had enough of that tonight to last multiple lifetimes, thank you very much.

She could remind herself of everything at stake, all the looming threats, and how much they still had to do before anyone could consider themselves remotely safe again. But those reminders were weak, useless, and practically non-existent with the shifter standing right there, so close beside her.

A constant reminder that their connection, the darkness of that unknown thing growing between them, had no need for sustenance or sleep or shelter.

That it would never rest.

That even the constant pressure tugging at her core, turning her constantly toward Maxwell at every waking moment, didn’t give a shit about the dangers they all faced or how much time they did and didn’t have.

She tried to ignore its call, but the harder she struggled against it, the more of her it seized in its ever-tightening grasp.

Until she finally turned toward the shifter standing rigid and motionless beside her and thought for the briefest moment she saw him trembling.

Or maybe it was just a trick of the light?

Maxwell’s jaw muscles clenched over and over as if he fought against some invisible force keeping him away from her. Then he slowly turned his head to meet her gaze.

But it was the exact opposite for him too, wasn’t it? Fighting against the same invisible force to stay away from her. Just as Rebecca fought it within herself.

Clearly, neither one of them had had much success. Yet.

His silver eyes pulsed in a single burst when he finally met her gaze, and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

She hadn’t just imagined it, then. Something was definitely wrong.

Something had shaken him to the point of visibly imprinting its existence across his features, and he’d forced himself to wait until they were relatively alone, because he didn’t want anyone else to know.

What else had happened to him in the woods while he’d hunted Eduardo?

What else had he seen ?

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Hannigan?”

“Will you walk with me?” The gruffness in his voice and the audible effort he expended confirmed what she’d already felt.

Something was definitely wrong.

“Just a little stroll for fun, then?” she asked.

Maxwell nodded toward the northeastern corner of the destroyed compound building. “Not far. Simply for a bit more privacy than the parking lot currently affords.”

She clicked her tongue at him. “You tossed a severed head my way for everyone to see. “Privacy kinda feels like a moot point now.”

“That was for them.” His silver eyes flickered toward the operatives slowly picking themselves up in the aftermath. “This is for me .”

Rebecca couldn’t help but shoot another look at the incredibly large grimbúl head lying mere feet away on the asphalt. Without context, it didn’t even seem real.

“Looks like the head was for you too, though,” she muttered. “Just a little.”

She wasn’t trying to be funny, but a smile cracked her lips anyway. When she looked back up at him, though, Maxwell had spread his arms slightly and now looked down at himself, as if noticing for the first time what he’d done and that he’d returned to her with all the evidence of it still spattered across his body.

He hastily wiped the back of a hand across his mouth in a failed attempt to remove the blood still smeared across his face. Then he stepped closer and leaned down, as if he meant to whisper in her ear. But he stopped to meet her gaze, like something physically kept him from looking away.

“There’s more,” he growled. “But I would rather discuss it away from the others. They have enough to worry them. Please.”

No argument there. Plenty of concern and worry for everyone, with more than enough to go around.

She was out of excuses to hold off this private chat any longer. Now that he’d brought it up first, she probably couldn’t have focused on anything else anyway before discovering what had rattled her Head of Security this much. If it couldn’t’ be shared with everyone else, it had to be important.

“Let’s walk, then,” she replied and headed toward the building corner he’d indicated. “But we don’t have a whole lot of time for—”

“I know. I won’t take any more of it than necessary.”

Fair enough.

She thought the sight of their Roth-Da’al and Head of Security half-slinking, half-marching across the destroyed battlefield of their home would have garnered more negative attention—mostly curiosity and concern—than Rebecca had the energy to reassure right now. But the others hardly seemed to notice.

They were too busy helping Zida with the wounded, or salvaging what little they could from the wreckage, or they were simply too exhausted to notice much of anything.

Which was just as dangerous, should anyone else on their enemy list feel like the wee hours of the morning just before dawn made for the perfect time to pay Shade a violent visit of their own.

The heat and tingling, vibrating energy emanating off Maxwell as they headed for the building soon made it far too difficult to think of anything else.

Rebecca forced herself to remember where she was, what she needed to do, and what was still most important.

Everything was gone. Shade had nowhere to go and no plan B’s left…

Her willpower didn’t last long.

Try as she might to ignore them, the only coherent thoughts and images racing through her mind revolved around that unyielding urge to throw herself at Maxwell. To pull him close and never let go.

To finally give in to the unexplained connection that had been whittling away at both their resolve, bit by bit, and Blue Hells take all the rest.

And why not, when they were obviously this close to the end, with no obvious options remaining and nothing but rubble to protect and defend anymore?

Didn’t they all have nothing left to lose?

No, not quite. They were still alive—every member of this task force with zero casualties, however the hell that had happened. Shade was still Shade, with or without their Headquarters compound, or all their gear and supplies.

Rebecca was still Roth-Da’al. Maxwell was still Head of Security. Their operatives were still family.

And this was still business, wasn’t it? That had to come first.

Shade had to come first.

She’d already risked so much to make that perfectly clear.

The second they rounded the corner, Maxwell whirled on her so quickly, she thought they were under attack again.

But only the crumbling remains of the outer wall existed here with her and the shifter looming over her again, his eyes strobing.

“You were right,” he said, suddenly breathless, like he’d run five miles in the second it took them to round the corner. “Eduardo wasn’t in this alone. When I found him, he was speaking with someone.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Do you know who?”

“No. I imagine he was too upset to have conjured his own name. I didn’t stop to ask.”

“Probably for the best,” she muttered, more concerned now than ever by what the shifter hadn’t yet told her; he grew more visibly agitated by the second. “At least we can confirm he had help.”

“And we have this.” Maxwell reached into his back pocket and whipped out what Rebecca first assumed was another piece of fried technology completely useless to them.

But no, that was just dirt and blood caked across the surface of a surprisingly small flip phone.

“Eduardo’s?” she asked.

Maxwell said nothing but handed her the phone.

“I didn’t know anyone even made these anymore,” she muttered, swiping at the thick crust of mixed blood and dirt that had now dried enough to be mostly wiped away.

“It’s still intact. No indication of the receiver’s identity, but Eduardo was the one who made the call. He was particularly frustrated. Spoke of promises and assurances given, which obviously did not produce their intended effect.”

“Hmm…” She glanced quickly up at him as she flipped up the phone. “Obviously.”

It took her two seconds to find the most recent call made from Eduardo’s phone—an unsaved number with an area code she didn’t recognize. But the time it had been made certainly matched the battle’s timeframe. Specifically, the moment of Zida’s army-obliterating explosion.

“There may be a way to retrace the call and identify the receiver,” Maxwell grumbled. “I would have gotten Whit started on it first, but our systems are buried under what remains of the garage.”

Shit.

No Security office, either. No more intel resources or any other means of gathering the information that otherwise would have taken Whit an hour. Two, tops.

Rebecca swallowed the lump hardening in her throat again and looked up from the phone. “The armory?”

Maxwell sighed heavily, his scowl deepening. “No different.”

“Dammit. We really have nothing left.”

“I disagree.”

When he stepped closer, the instant surge of tingling heat and energy—combined with how hard she constantly struggled to ignore it while all the other variables of Shade’s current grave circumstances crashed through her mind—made Rebecca reflexively step back.

Into the wall, with nowhere else to go.

But this wasn’t another attack. Certainly not by Maxwell.

The jagged edges of the jutting hole in the brick wall bit at her back as she stared up at the shifter, Eduardo’s flip phone in her hand instantly forgotten.

Maxwell’s nostrils flared, his jaw muscles working overtime as he clearly struggled to keep himself in check. His eyes widened slightly before he leaned away to look her over from head to toe, as if realizing for the first time that she wore Titus’s ridiculously large jacket over what little remained of her magically burned-up clothes.

“We do not have nothing,” he murmured. “ We are still here.”

She didn’t have the strength to keep from throwing herself at him and filter her words at the same time.

“Zero casualties is always a plus,” she blurted. “But without a base, we’re just a bunch of homeless magicals wandering aimlessly outside the city. Can’t organize much of anything without—”

“I meant you .”