Ella forced her chin up, covering the slip. “I’m allowed to think.”
“Then think quieter.” His expression was scathing, but he backed away just enough that she was no longer caged.
She huffed as she pushed off the log to stand, folded her arms, and looked down at him with as much confidence as she could muster. “You really know how to make a guest feel welcome.” The word lingered like a dare, guest, not prisoner.
Jakobav’s eyes held hers too long, unreadable.
The fire painted his face in warped light and shadow, and she had the distinct sense he was deciding what she was worth: an ally, an enemy, or something far more threatening.
Without a word, he rose and took one step, closing the distance again. Close enough that only her ragged breath existed in the space between them.
His gaze intensified, as though she’d just offered him a new game he intended to win.
“You keep saying guest,” he said at last, voice barely above a murmur. “As if the word itself makes it true. As if you’re testing me…waiting to see if I’ll reveal what my Guard already knows. You’re wondering if I’m hiding the truth from them or if I’ve revealed who you really are.”
The words struck like a slap.
“I didn’t say that.”
She shivered, though she wasn’t sure if it was the wind biting her skin or the way he kept prying.
“You didn’t have to.” His head tilted slightly, predatory.
Her jaw tightened. “Aren’t you?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Would it matter?”
Yes. It would change her entire plan. But she couldn’t make herself say it.
Instead she replied, “If you are…I’d like to know why.”
Jakobav didn’t blink. He reached out, slow and deliberate, and pulled her tunic back over her shoulder. She hadn’t realized it had slipped, and his fingers grazed her collarbone, rough and calloused, warm from the fire, his thumb tracing slow circles that tested every boundary she tried to hold.
Air snagged in her throat, but she didn’t move, refusing him the gratification of seeing her react to his touch.
“You’re asking for truth when you’ve given little of it yourself,” he said. His voice was low, private, as though the fire itself had spun a cocoon around them. His hand stayed on her shoulder, warm and unyielding, a reminder that he had no intention of stepping back.
“Fine. You want honesty? I’m not hiding you.” His voice hit with the weight of a verdict. “I’m protecting you. I know who you are. I may not know what you’re hiding, but I intend to fucking find out.”
His gaze locked with hers, waiting, watching, hunting for the truth.
“But something about you…”
He leaned in, not close enough to kiss but close enough that the heat of his mouth ghosted her cheek. His grip tightened on her shoulder.
“…feels like the edge of a blade.”
Ella stilled. Jakobav’s mouth twitched, half grimace and half something darker. His thumb dragged slowly from her collarbone to the column of her throat in a smooth stroke.
“One wrong move,” he murmured, “and you’d slice a man clean through.”
His thumb paused beneath her jaw where her pulse thundered, tilting her head toward him. Not painfully, but not gently either.
“Cutting,” he added. “Delicate yet deadly.”
Ella’s breath caught, loud in the hush.
“Fuck.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Her cheeks flushed, shame rising hot and fast. She swallowed hard, the sound impossibly loud.
