Something feral lit behind his eyes, barely leashed, and he caught her wrist, drawing her forearm into the torchlight. The faint scorch from Caelen’s Veinfire traced itself like ink across her skin, and his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking hard. Then his other hand closed around her opposite wrist, pulling it into the light as well. The silver half-moon Thread-burn gleamed faintly against her pulse, etched into her like an unhealed secret.
Jakobav’s eyes darkened as if the sight struck him deep. His grip tightened just enough to anchor her in place, his gaze locked on the twin marks carved into her skin.
“If anyone else ever lays flame or fate on you again, I’ll end them.”
The words sat between them, too full of truth.
He drew in a slow breath, looking like he was trying to push the violence back behind his teeth. “Does it hurt?” His voice was quiet.
“The Veinfire still stings,” Ella replied honestly.
He slid a square of linen from his coat, but instead of tending to her right there in the corridor, he nudged her door open with his boot and guided her inside.
The chamber held a faint floral scent, the basin gleaming on the table as though waiting for this moment. He poured water over her arm, the touch cold against the burn, and bound her forearm with careful hands. When he finished, he bent and pressed his mouth to the skin just above the bandage, sending a shiver through her despite the warm night.
She couldn’t believe he was there with her, in her chambers, a place she’d thought she would never see again. Ella’s thoughts slipped back to the banquet, to the way women had leaned forward when he entered, their gazes drinking him in.
Vultures.
“Half the hall would’ve dropped their goblets to be the one you noticed. And yet here you are, tending to my injury.”
His jaw flexed, but instead of the smirk she expected, he only stilled. His steady gaze locked on hers.
“I didn’t come here for politics. I walked into enemy territory not knowing if I’d be met with an army. I came for you, Ella.” His voice roughened, conviction burning low and fierce. “I’ll follow you anywhere. Into whatever hell the fates unleash. Not because you’re a prize to be won, but because you’re the only choice I’ll ever make.”
Her chest tightened, the jealousy dissolving into something hungrier, something that pinned her in place.
“Now, no more touching you until you say so,” he murmured.
Liquid heat pooled low in her belly at his words.
This man would kill anyone who dared touch her without permission, and gods, the dark promise of it throbbed through her, desire gathering between her thighs.
“I’m saying so,” she breathed.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Then say it again.”
Her fingers fisted in his collar. “Stay.”
Jakobav pushed the door shut with his shoulder, sealing off the empty corridor. Her back hit the wood as he crowded into her space, his hands cupping her jaw and sliding to the nape of her neck.
“Tell me no,” he rasped against her mouth.
“No…I won’t. Please, Jake. Stop holding back,” she breathed.
Cloth tore between them, tugged impatiently as though every barrier had become an offense. He stripped her bare, and for a heartbeat, he only looked, his eyes dark and reverent, worship and feral hunger tangled together. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice breaking with truth. “You’re beautiful, Ellandria.”
His gaze traveled over her. “Now get on the bed. On your knees. Face me.”
Heat scalded her cheeks, but her body obeyed. She turned toward the mattress, the sway of her hips intentional, aware and unashamed of her nakedness before him.
She climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the furs as a sound broke from him, a half-groan, half-growl, primal and ragged. He followed her onto the mattress in one fluid motion, closing the distance in a swift blur. One hand gripped her hip with bruising strength while the other skimmed along her spine. His palm landed hard on the curve of her ass, anchoring her, then his mouth brushed her ear—almost tender—a contradiction so sharp it made her shiver.
Jakobav pressed her into the mattress, braced above her on his forearms. Their mouths found each other again and again, desperate, as if kissing were the only language left to them. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer until his forehead pressed to hers, his breath uneven, rough velvet against her lips.
“Tell me what you want,” he rasped.
“I want you to fuck me, Jake. Now,” she shot back, voice breaking like a challenge and a plea.
