Chapter 52 #2
Elara shook her head, incredulous. “I thought you understood—thought you, of all people, would get it. We’ve both had our choices taken from us, and this... this tiny thing, and you couldn’t even give me that?”
His jaw clenched. “No, I couldn’t.”
Something inside her broke. She stepped forward without thinking, her hand moving on instinct. The slap cracked through the room, pain flaring across her palm. His head turned with the blow—but he didn’t react. He didn’t so much as blink.
“Stop being such a coward!”
Elara turned to leave, already searching for the seam between worlds, ready to rift away.
But in three swift strides, he was on her, his hand gripping her arm and yanking her back until she collided with him.
His fingers were at her throat before she could regain her balance, pulling her closer.
She let out a strangled cry—surprised, breathless—just as he kissed her.
It was hard, bruising, all the tension between them erupting in that single moment.
He pulled back just enough, his breath hot against her lips, his voice low and rough.
“You insufferable, maddening woman.”
Her stomach dropped, her heart flipping wildly, and she barely managed a squeak before his lips crashed back onto hers, cutting off any sound.
It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an invasion. A kiss that plundered, as if her fury was something he craved, something he wanted to drag from her throat and consume.
Her breaths came in short, frantic bursts through her nose, her chest heaving as her heart thundered like it might break free.
The world blurred around her, narrowing to the demanding press of his mouth against hers.
When he shifted, capturing her bottom lip between his own, she exhaled sharply.
Her hands curled into his shirt on instinct, and before she could stop herself, she kissed him back.
A low sound rumbled from him, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, as his hand slid up the back of her neck.
His fingers threaded into her hair, cradling her head as though letting go was impossible.
Her stomach twisted, heat and a strange fluttering spreading through her.
The thought flickered in her mind that this was a terrible idea, that she should stop—but gods, she didn’t want to.
His hand slipped from her neck, fingers trailing lightly down her arm, barely brushing her skin before wrapping around her. Her lips parted, and his tongue slid against hers.
A low groan escaped him, the sound rippling through her.
She met his kiss with equal force, curling her tongue around his, following him deeper, tasting him—cinnamon and black tea, fire and smoke—a mix of heat and spice.
Her nails grazed his scalp as he pulled back. “Is this what you want, Elara? Hmm? Should I just take this?”
She could only whimper in response, rising onto her toes to meet him halfway.
He didn’t hesitate, his hands gripping her waist as he lifted her.
Her legs wrapped instinctively around his hips, and his lips stayed locked on hers as he carried her out of the library and into the drawing room.
It was as if he couldn’t bear to break the connection, not even for a second.
His fingers knotted in her hair, tipping her head back, baring the line of her throat. Then his mouth was there—lips and teeth skimming the sensitive curve of her neck.
Elara’s breath hitched as he followed the path with heated, open-mouthed kisses.
He sank onto the settee, drawing her down with him, her body settling astride his lap.
His hands closed on her hips, firm, pulling her in until there was no space left between them.
The sound that tore from her—a soft, broken moan—was met by his, low and guttural, vibrating against her chest.
She felt him, hard against her stomach, and exhaled into his mouth, her eyes flying open at the sensation.
She hadn’t expected it, and the suddenness sent a rush of nerves coursing through her.
But there was something else, too—something like pride, or maybe power.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.
His eyes were dark, his lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed.
He looked at her like no one ever had before—like she was something to be cherished, protected, devoured—and the intensity of it sent a dip through her stomach, her breath catching in her throat.
He was watching her, waiting, his hand fisted tightly in her shirt, holding her there but giving her space to decide what came next.
It felt unreal—like her mind couldn’t fully catch up that this was the Hunter beneath her. Ivan. The man who had always been untouchable, unshakable. And now here he was, his hands on her, trembling where they gripped her, his breathing ragged, utterly at her mercy.
His hands drifted down her arms, heat radiating from him, pulsing with the ether that always seemed to simmer just beneath his skin.
They were rough, calloused from years of battle, from war, from everything that had shaped him into the man before her.
He traced soft arcs with the pads of his fingers over her palms, gliding up to her fingertips before sliding back down to intertwine their hands.
Her heart clenched at the tender gesture, but all she could think about was “nothing personal,” how he had kept those memories from her—the ones of them together. There was a reason he hadn’t told her, something that twisted her insides the longer she dwelled on it.
He wasn’t trying to hurt her; she knew him well enough to believe that. But still, he had kept it from her—maybe not to manipulate, but to protect himself.
The urge to ask again, to demand an explanation now that they had crossed this line, burned on her tongue. But then his hand was on her face, his thumb ghosting over her mouth, and the question died on her lips.
"Can I touch you?" His voice was barely a whisper, and when he breathed in, his stomach pressed against hers, fluttering and tight. She licked her lips, eyes drifting up to meet his, dark and hooded.
“Yes.”
That made him smile, just a little, a soft curve of his lips. Those rough, calloused fingertips trailed down her jaw, over her neck, ghosting along the line of her shirt until they reached her breast. He moved with the curve of her body. “Here?” His voice was so low it sent a shiver through her.
“Yes.”
When he cupped her, she gasped, and he shifted at the sound, hips pressing closer.
Whatever restraint he’d been holding fractured, and in one smooth motion his hand slid beneath her shirt, fingers slipping under the lace until skin met skin.
His touch was warm, rough enough to make her breath catch, her eyes fluttering shut under the rush of it.
He let out a slow breath as her fingers traced his face, mapping lines and features she’d memorized from a distance for far too long.
His skin was warm beneath her touch, and when she finally dared to skim her thumb over his lips, his breath came hot against her fingertips.
His hand drifted lower, sliding over her stomach as he drew her index finger into his mouth. Her stomach flipped, her back arching—
and then the world tipped when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, grazing the soft skin at her lower belly.
Her body jolted, and his eyes snapped to hers as he released her finger from his mouth.
“Here?”
She swallowed and nodded. His hand dipped lower, the warmth of his fingers brushing her, stealing her breath.
He traced her slowly, pressing just enough to spark sensation through her body. When he found the place that made her hips jerk against him, she gasped, her breathing turning quick and uneven.
“Gods, yes,” she said—though it was so much more than okay. Too much to name.
His finger circled slowly, pleasure rolling through her in steady waves. Her hands fisted in his shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders as her hips moved on their own, chasing more with every pass of his hand.
His hips jerked back once—but by the time he pressed a finger, then two, inside her, he’d found a rhythm against her leg, grinding into her with a need that matched her own. Elara’s hand slid to the back of his neck, tugging, wordless, pleading for a kiss.
He didn’t move.
She saw it in his eyes—he wanted to watch her. Every breath, every shudder. He wasn’t willing to miss a second of it.
Heat licked up her spine, spreading fast beneath her skin, and before she could stop herself she was moving—fucking his hand in a way that would make her blush later. His breath turned heavy, pupils blown wide, his face flushed.
She was so close—that tight, coiled pull in her belly, ready to snap—
when he slowed—hovering just shy of pushing her over.
Slow, deliberate strokes drew a whimper from her, her fingers twisting into his shirt. He kept her there, on the edge, drawing her up and pulling back until she was nearly sobbing with need, blood roaring through her veins.
He leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful, Elara. Look at you."
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 breaths they 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 past midnight. 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 anything so 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.