12
DROWNED IN DISTRACTION
The tension Maeren left behind was suffocating. Ella sat, rigid, on the edge of the bed, her fists knotted tight in the blankets, ribs aching where Jakobav’s very large, very solid body had pressed against hers. His scent lingered both in the air and in her thoughts, and no matter how she tried to banish it, it refused to let her go. Gods.
She replayed every word she had thrown at him, each retort pulling more gravity than she cared to admit. She had snapped, cursed, practically spat fire into his face. To be fair, he had shoved her down and pinned her beneath the covers. She should’ve been furious. It should’ve been unforgivable. Yet her body had betrayed her all the same, liquid heat pooling low, her breasts tightening at the faintest graze of his touch. She was more concerned that she wasn’t angry.
What is wrong with me?
The memory of him clung like a bruise, inescapable to all but time. His breath had scraped her ear, his voice rasping low enough to rake along her spine, every syllable barbed with possession. It hadn’t been gentle. It hadn’t been invited, but gods, it had lit something within her.
And that was the worst part.
Not that he had forced her down or left her body strung tight with sensation, but that for one wild, blinding instant, jealousy had burned hotter than rage. The woman who had barged into his chambers had spoken to him as if she belonged there, as if she knew him in ways Ella never would. It made no sense. Dravaryns were known for brutality and silence, yet with him, she’d seen something else entirely. Not tenderness, not cruelty, but something in between. The way they spoke to each other was respectful, threaded with the kind of ease and teasing that came from history.
Ella pressed her palms hard against her eyes, as though she could smother the thoughts before they consumed her.
He cleared his throat, a quiet reminder that he was still in the room.
“You have a temper,” Jakobav said at last, his voice low.
He leaned against the wall as though nothing had happened and he was still deciding whether to chain her or let her set him on fire.
She squared her shoulders. “You have a boundary problem.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. A shadow of one. “Then stay out of my reach.”
Her head tilted, her smile sweet as poisoned honey. “You would miss the entertainment.”
The words were not as cutting as her usual barbs. This was something else entirely, reckless, born of the way his soft brown waves had fallen loose across his forehead. She had wanted, for one dangerous second, to push them back just to see his face unguarded. Instead, her mouth had betrayed her first.
His eyes darkened, steady and unflinching. “I can think of a few things far more entertaining when it comes to you.”
The air thickened, her pulse stumbling into a dangerous rhythm. He looked away, but too late. She had already seen it. Already felt the spark ignite, treacherous and undeniable.
His hands curled tight at his sides, as if holding himself back from closing the distance. He pushed off the wall and stalked toward the bathing chamber. He paused at the door, his voice rougher now. “You think I don’t notice every time you pull away. But I do.”
Buckets clattered in the adjoining chamber as servants hurried to fill the basin with hot water, steam rising in ribbons that drifted into the room, cooling the moment just enough for her breath to return.
The quiet that followed was almost worse. It left her alone with the turmoil circling her thoughts, always returning to him.
She couldn’t afford this. Not his distractions. Not his stares. Not the way he had found a path beneath her skin and refused to leave.
Ella had never been docile, and she was not about to start now. Charm had its uses, but submission had never been part of her arsenal. She prided herself on quick retorts and stubborn fire, yet this infuriating beast of a man seemed determined to drag her under, drowning her in him. Fuck that.
What unnerved her most was the suspicion that he was not even trying. Jakobav seemed to simply exist that way: commanding, relentless, impossible to ignore. People probably lined up to obey him.
He was everything she needed to avoid: powerful, loyal to his kingdom, entirely too perceptive.
And worst of all? He was the kind of dangerously attractive that ruined kingdoms. That angular jaw. Those full, smug lips.
And then, as though her traitorous thoughts had summoned him, he returned. Shirtless.
Fresh from the bath, damp hair sticking to his temples, a towel slung low across his hips, moisture still glistening on his chest. Scars mapped the ridges of his body, stories she didn’t know. Tattoos beaded with water droplets shifted across muscle like constellations blurred by stormlight.
Jakobav looked down at her with eyes that burned, teeth grazing his lower lip as though weighing whether to speak or to do something far less sensible.
Ella forgot how to blink.
