His lips brushed over the sweat beading on her skin, trailing his mouth down to her neck, his tongue flicking over her pulse before sucking gently. She knew he could taste her sweat, feel the wild beat of her heart beneath his lips, the tremble of her body as she moaned his name.
Ivan.
Not the Hunter.Ivan.
His hips moved faster, his fingers keeping pace, and she splintered in his hands—arching toward him, pleading. Her nails dug into his arms as his thumb circled, relentless, his fingers curving inside her, finding that spot again and again.
A gasp tore from her, lungs burning, and then her hips jerked up into him as her release crashed through her—violent, all-consuming.
Fire and lightning raced through her, every nerve alight. Pressure and heat fused into a single, blinding rush until the world dissolved. The weight of him, the rasp of his breath at her neck, the salt of sweat on her lips—everything blurred into sensation, into him, his hands gripping her, his fingers still moving as she came apart.
Then everything went black, her vision tunneling, the only sound the rush of blood in her ears and the ragged breathsthey both fought for. The room, the world, the war—none of it existed. There was only him. Only the way his touch had undone her.
The return was abrupt, like being torn from a dream—one sharp jolt back into reality, as though she’d been floating and then fallen, straight back into him.
Her body buzzed, tingling everywhere he’d touched, her thoughts slow and unsteady as she gulped air through the aftershocks. He was breathing just as hard, his chest rising and falling with hers, breath warm and damp against the curve of her neck where his face was buried in her hair. Weakly, she wrapped her arms around him, muscles trembling with the effort.
After a moment, he withdrew his fingers slowly, dragging a lingering line across her stomach that sent one last shiver through her. His hand disappeared, then returned to settle at her hip.
There was so much she needed to say, but all she could do was breathe, her body still twitching as she came back to herself.
And then it struck her—she hadn’t touched him.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. With Dario it had been fast and quiet, hidden in the dark. Gentle, yes—patient, because it had been her first time—but there had been no exploration. She hadn’t even thought to reach for him.
Now, she could feel Ivan still hard between them, and something stirred at the thought of touching him, of returning what he’d given her.
She bit her lip, fighting the smile that threatened to break free as her hand moved toward him.
He caught her wrist.
“You don’t... You should sleep.”
Her brow furrowed, confused.
“You look exhausted,” he continued, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, though his grip softened. “It’s well pastmidnight. You should rest. I’ll wake you before dawn and take you back myself.”
His jaw twitched, as though he hated the thought of returning her to that place. But he wasn’t wrong—her limbs felt heavy, liquid, and the moment he mentioned sleep, it tugged at her, her body finally registering how spent she was.
Still, her gaze flicked down to his pants, still straining between them, and her pulse kicked hard at the sight.
“I want you, Elara,” he said quietly, his voice rough with restraint. His hand rose to her cheek, thumb brushing her skin in a touch that was painfully gentle, though his eyes betrayed him—burning, restless. “But right now… right now, I’m not thinking about what I want. I’m thinking about you.”
His words were tender, and something warm, and heavy settled inside her.
“Okay,” she whispered, and he gently helped her off him, pulling her into his chest until they were lying side by side, her body fitting perfectly against his. Elara pressed her face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in—smoke and clove, warm and heady, intoxicating like it was a drug she couldn’t get enough of.
His fingers threaded through her hair, stroking slowly. The tension in her body eased, bit by bit, his warmth wrapping around her like a blanket. Elara’s thoughts spun as she breathed him in. Ivan. The Hunter. The boy who had once been her friend, the boy she couldn’t remember but somehow felt in her bones. The fates must have laughed themselves sick when they wove their threads together.
Childhood friends torn apart, tossed onto opposite sides of a war that neither of them chose. And yet, here they were. Something larger than either of them pulling them back into each other’s orbit. It didn’t make sense, but maybe it wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it wasn’t chance or coincidence or anythingso small. Maybe they weren’t meant to question it. Maybe the fates had stitched their lives together for a reason.
Sleep came for her quicker than she could have imagined. Perhaps it was the weight of him beside her, his hand in her hair, or the lingering haze of the pleasure he’d pulled from her body. Either way, it was deep and dreamless, pulling her under completely.
Chapter 53
The first whisper of dawn brushed against Elara as a faint tickle on her nose, gently rousing her from sleep. Her body felt stiff, like she hadn’t moved all night, and the scent of parchment and something warm and spicy, filled her lungs with each deep breath she took.
It was the insistent tickle, though—a feather-like touch—that nudged her toward wakefulness.
