Chapter 19 Burning Point
BURNING POINT
Ella surged forward. “I’m not sharing a bedroll with anyone.” She was breathless now. “I’d rather—”
A hand closed gently around her wrist. Thane’s.
“Hey. Please.” His voice, for the first time since she met him, carried no trace of humor. “Take it out on me. I packed too fast. I’m sorry. Just…go easy on him.”
She stared at him, thrown by the gravity in his tone.
“We’ve been dealing with these Veil breaches for a while,” he went on, steady now.
“But this one’s different. The realm is more unstable now.
The solstice is almost here, which means his Claiming is days away.
He’s trying to carry an entire kingdom on his shoulders… and still protect all of us. And you.”
Something in his eyes, earnest and almost pleading, hit her harder than she expected. Thane did not seem like the type to ever be serious. Ella let out a slow breath and nodded, her jaw set, bristling at the heaviness. She found herself grasping for levity, eager to fracture the silence.
“So I shouldn’t skewer anyone from gut to gullet over a missing bedroll?” she asked lightly.
Thane’s brows arched, amusement flashing. “That was oddly specific.”
“Maybe I was channeling my inner war sprite?”
The grin returned, smug and pleased with himself, before he dropped onto his own mat.
Jakobav was arranging camp, pretending not to listen, but Ella caught the twitch of his hand, and the way his shoulders loosened only once she had finally relented. He dragged their shared bedroll to the far side of the fire, half shielded by saddles and packs, then turned to address the group.
“If anything slips through the trees, it will come from this direction,” he said, tone clipped. “I’m taking first watch. If my eyes start to get heavy, I’ll wake one of you.”
Thane arched a brow but didn’t argue. The others nodded, then scattered toward their own sleeping mats on the opposite side of the fire, embers popping softly as the camp settled.
Jakobav remained standing, one hand near his sword, his gaze fixed on the dark beyond the circle of light.
Ella cleared her throat. He turned slowly, lifting a brow as if to ask what trouble she planned to start now.
“Of course you volunteer for guard duty,” she said.
“Watching people sleep seems to be a favorite pastime of yours.”
He paused at that, the jab hanging between them. Then he stepped close, hooked two fingers beneath her chin, and lifted it in a brief, silent tilt, his eyes unreadable.
A soft tsk slipped from him, something like amusement or a warning—she couldn’t tell—and he shook his head once before releasing her and walking away without a word.
Ella exhaled through her nose, heat prickling the back of her neck. She lowered herself into what would be their shared bedroll and tugged the blanket into place.
It wasn’t long before Jakobav returned from his final sweep along the perimeter. He lowered himself beside her, settling on the edge of the mat, his body angled toward the trees in a posture that was both rest and vigilance.
Ella wasn’t sure what unsettled her more: the thought of sharing a bedroll with him, or the way her body betrayed her by welcoming his warmth.
The night had turned bone-cold, a bitter wind threading through every seam of her cloak before gathering at the back of her neck and sending a shiver through her.
Her breath misted in the air as she tucked herself closer, trying not to notice the slow, steady rhythm of Jakobav’s breathing inches away.
They weren’t touching. Not really. Yet the bedroll was narrow, and the heat radiating from him seemed to bleed into her, infuriating in its persistence, though perhaps the heat was her own.
Her skin felt tight and fevered, as though something deep within her was pushing against the cold, straining to break free, humming in the dark.
She closed her eyes and willed herself toward sleep, but it refused to come. Her thoughts spun too loudly, and his presence was louder still, each shift of muscle beneath his shirt pulling her attention, every piece of him impossible to ignore.
And then it happened. Ella’s eyes snapped open as heat bloomed, not a gentle warmth but a small searing fire, a sudden blaze rising from within her.
Flames crawled across her skin as a quiet hiss split the air.
She looked down in horror to see the fabric of her shirt blackening, burning away in slow strips until each thread shriveled, and vanished into ash, exposing more of her with every frantic heartbeat.
“Oh shit,” she breathed.
She reached for the fur cover…only then realizing it had been kicked halfway down the bedroll sometime in her sleep. Her fingers scrambled for it, but she was too slow, too shocked, too bare.
Beside her, Jakobav jerked upright with a harsh inhale.
A thin wisp of smoke rose from a single scorched line along the edge of the bedroll, then the fire was nothing more. The small flame had died as if an unseen hand had pinched it out, leaving only that faint mark behind.
Her fire had never done that.
It had always spared her skin, but before she learned control, it devoured anything close—rope, cloth, bedding, whatever happened to be near her.
Tonight was different. Tonight the flames had chosen. Only her clothes had burned, cleanly and completely, while the rest had barely been touched. It had to be the breach. Her magic was misfiring, burning in ways that were selective and unpredictable.
“What the—” Jakobav’s hand shot out and grasped her shoulder before he hissed and wrenched back like her skin was scorching hot to the touch. And now nothing hid what the flames had taken.
She was naked. Exposed. Vulnerable. To the cold. To him. And gods, to the quiet camp surrounding them.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, breath shattering in her chest. If Maeren turned over or if Thane sat up, if Savina opened her eyes for even a moment… Panic knifed through her.
Her voice came out in a sharp whisper. “Do not say a word.”
“Wasn’t going to,” he whispered back, voice hoarse and rough. “Not with my First Guard. Right. There.” His voice had turned to pure threat, like he would personally murder anyone who even thought about lifting their head to look at her. “Ella. Do not move. Do not scream.”
His gaze dragged over her bare skin again, slow and tortured, his jaw clenching as if the sight physically hurt him. Ash drifted between them in fragile flakes, catching in the firelight.
“I didn’t do this on purpose,” she whispered, arms folding tight across her chest.
“I know.” He kept his voice quiet, still looking furious, as though the very idea of one of his warriors waking and seeing what he saw was unacceptable.
The air quivered with more than tension, threads of magic shifting in the silence, alive and waiting, as if it had chosen this moment, her most vulnerable, her most unguarded.
Jakobav’s hand twitched at his side. Restraint was carved into the hard set of his jaw, in the way his eyes kept burning hotter each time they dragged back to hers, heat answering heat.
“I can feel it,” he murmured, barely louder than the wind.
“What?” she whispered back.
“Your power.” His gaze locked on hers, unwavering. “It’s awake.”
Ella’s breath stuttered, shallow and thin.
“Do you feel it?” he asked softly.
She blinked, disbelief spilling faster than her words. “I feel naked, Jakobav.”
His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk threatening and then dying before it formed.
His gaze dropped openly now, tracing the bare line of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, the vulnerable length of skin she hadn’t managed to hide.
When he spoke, his voice was low, roughened into something close to a growl. “That too.”
The answering pull low in her belly was immediate. Treacherous. Her hands drifted lower, hovering near her thighs, fingers curling as she fought the instinct to hide the place that ached most and the equally reckless urge to do nothing at all.
The realm itself seemed to stir, a faint echo threading through the forest beyond their circle of firelight, as if even the trees leaned closer to watch.
Her skin was still searing against the night air as Jakobav scanned the shadows for a threat, every muscle coiled, every line of his body honed into lethal intent.
Her skin tightened, drawn too taut over her frame.
“I’m going to ask you something,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on the dark beyond the fire. “And I need you to tell me the truth.”
Her throat was dry. “What?” she whispered back.
“Is your magic doing this because of me…or because of the breach?” His words stayed low, barely more than breath.
Ella blinked, stunned.
“I can handle either,” he went on, his gaze snapping back to hers, voice steady and almost frightening in its calm. “But I need to know which one is about to kill me first.” His tone remained hushed, every word guarded.
Gods, he couldn’t possibly be serious, and yet he looked at her with the focus of a man facing war.
His gaze dipped lower again, and in that motion, she saw hunger—not for her power, but for her, raw and unmasked. Ache surged through her, enough that her nipples tightened against the cold air.
Ella followed the path of his eyes to the space between her thighs, where his gaze lingered, darkening. His throat worked once in a harsh swallow, and when his eyes lifted to hers again, the restraint there was brutal, almost savage.
She couldn’t look away. But the question still burned in the silence. Him, or the breach? Her body answered before her mind could; her back arched, need spilling from her skin in restless waves.
Jakobav leaned in close enough that she felt his warmth roll over hers and that one breath too deep would have brought his mouth to hers. The air thickened, swollen with magic and lust, tangled tight between them.
A rustle of fabric past the fire pulled them out of the moment, and Jakobav’s head whipped toward the sound, predator-quick. The sound was heavy, likely Thane turning in his sleep. They both held their breath, waiting to see if he would sit up, speak, or stir again. He didn’t.
The camp settled back into stillness.
As if suddenly remembering she was still naked—and that anyone could wake and see her—he shot forward, one hand seizing the fur thrown near her feet, the other bracing against her hip for leverage. He tugged the covering upward in a single pull.
The fur snagged on her pack, and he yanked it free with a rough jerk. His bracing hand slipped, knuckles brushing the inside of her leg before his fingers slid suddenly between her thighs, pressed into a slick warmth that answered more than she wanted him to know.
Ella’s breath fractured. Sensation crashed over her in a raw, helpless wave.
Jakobav froze. He dropped the fur; it landed across her chest. But his other hand remained a heartbeat too long, still cupped against the most sensitive part of her before he finally tore it back.
“Fuck,” he whispered, wrecked. “Ella.”
Her stomach flipped, and she struggled to breathe.
For several suspended seconds, neither of them moved. The space between them felt stretched thin, humming with everything his touch had ignited. A tingling sensation still lingered on her skin where his hand had been, a phantom imprint that refused to fade, and the shock of it held her frozen.
Then his shoulders locked, the soldier settling back into place.
He turned away from her with a quick, controlled movement, rolling onto his side as though she had burned him.
Which, in truth, she might have.
The heat of his body withdrew at once, leaving her bare skin exposed to the icy air. The sudden cold hit like a blade. Her magic retreated with it, draining fast, leaving her muscles trembling around the absence.
The shivering began quietly, almost imperceptible at first, a tremor in her legs that spread to her arms until her whole body shook, teeth chattering as her limbs went rigid against the chill.
Jakobav’s head turned, his body shifted, and with a low exhale, he reached for her.
He didn’t speak or ask, simply drew her toward him.
Her body curled instinctively into his, dwarfed by the breadth of him, and the fit was too perfect to be anything but maddening.
She should pull away, should protest, but she was frozen through, bone-deep tired, and the heat of him felt like salvation.
His chest was unyielding behind her, the planes of his body hard as stone. His arm settled firmly around her middle, strong but careful. She tried not to notice the stillness inside her, the strange calm, how safe she felt in the shelter of his hold.
“I understand the concept of huddling for warmth,” she muttered, her voice rough, “but I don’t think I’m wearing enough for this to count.”
Behind her, Jakobav let out a low, amused sound. “Maybe I’m wearing too much?”
Ella’s eyes flew open, her thoughts tangling into chaos. Was he teasing? Was he offering? Or was she losing her mind for even wondering?
Before she could combust, Jakobav shifted, pulling off his outermost layer and handing it to her without a word.
Then he reached into one of the packs and drew out a pair of pants. He didn’t look at her as he passed them over, only said, “Might be Maeren’s.”
Gods, please let them be Maeren’s. Anyone’s but Savina’s. She had already taken her out of commission for days; she didn’t need to steal her pants too.
She muttered something incoherent as she tugged them on with a huff. They were slightly too large, and smelled faintly of leather and smoke.
Jakobav lay back down without another word, his arm returning to her waist and hauling her more firmly against him. She sucked in a breath as the hard length of him pressed against her lower back, hot and insistent even through the fabric.
She told herself it was nothing, a reflex, an accident of proximity, but her flesh refused to believe the lie. Every muscle in her frame went taut, awareness sparking everywhere his body touched hers.
He didn’t shift away; if anything, his grip tightened. And gods help her, she didn’t move either.
She knew she didn’t get a single moment of true sleep, though she had pretended to.
Dawn hovered close, perhaps an hour, perhaps minutes away.
She only knew she had to steady herself before morning light revealed everything they hadn’t dared to name in the dark.
The light would be here soon, and with it, the truth.