Chapter 29 The Garden and the Breach
THE GARDEN AND THE brEACH
JAKOBAV
Through the halls he carried her, past startled guards who looked away quickly as if they had not seen, past torchlight that bent in the rush of his passage, out into the night where the air bit cold against his skin, her breath hitching uneven in his hold.
And then into the black rose garden.
He wasn’t sure why his fury had carried him here, only that his feet had chosen before his mind could catch up.
His blood had always stirred in this place, the dark blooms gleaming like onyx fire beneath the moon.
Out here, among the roses, his power had never once faltered.
If he was going to break, if he was going to lose every ounce of restraint he had left, this was as good a place as any.
She twisted once against his grip, but he growled, so low it reverberated in his own bones, and she stilled as though her body understood better than her mind that fighting him would be useless.
The night here was warmer than all the rest of the castle grounds, as if the garden kept its own climate.
The roses stood like sentinels, thousands of them spilling beneath the moonlight in spirals and arcs, their dark petals drinking in silver light until it fractured into plum and violet and deep wine, gleaming like shards of obsidian wet with dew.
The hedges curled in deliberate patterns, the buds tilting as they passed in a slow, collective lean as if the whole garden recognized them.
Even the air thickened, laced with spice and velvet, clinging close around them like a second skin.
But Jakobav barely registered any of it. His grip was iron on her wrist, the furnace in his chest burning hotter with every step. That smile she’d given Thane, the way she’d stood too close, and before that, the look she’d given the painted Fae: not fear, not curiosity, but longing.
The thought scraped raw down his spine, jealousy like he’d never known before, a snarl that made him push harder and walk faster, instinct driving him deeper into the heart of the garden until the scent of the roses drowned the night.
She stumbled when he stopped, and he used the momentum to spin her, pressing her back into the hedge. The roses shifted under her, petals crushed with a hiss, their perfume flooding heavy between them.
“You think I didn’t notice?” His voice came low, dangerous, threaded with something feral.
“Notice what?” she shot back, her chin tilting up in defiance.
The sheer gall of her, standing there as if she didn’t know she’d dragged a side of him into the light that he’d never seen in himself, scraped at him until his jaw ached and his pulse thundered. Rage and hunger warred in his veins, a violent swell that left him shaking with the need to claim.
“The way you looked at him,” Jakobav growled. “At that fucking Fae. And Thane. Like they were worth your eyes.”
Her lips curved, not soft but taunting. “Maybe they were.”
Heat spiked through him, dark and violent. “Careful, Ella.”
“Or what?” she whispered, her pulse fluttering beneath his grip.
He leaned closer, his breath rough against her skin. “I will not share that look with another man,” he said, voice low with warning. “Nor that smile. Not even your breath.”
His grip tightened.
“The next time you give it, it will be to me.”
Her voice was taunting, infuriating. “Fuck, Jakobav, you sound jealous.”
“I am,” he admitted, his mouth so close to hers he could taste the shape of the word. “And you don’t want to know how far that goes.”
The way she looked at him, ocean-blue eyes catching in the moonlight. Gods.
They widened just slightly, and she breathed, “Maybe I do.” The words left her softer, more ache than defiance.
“Then maybe I should ruin you for every other man who thinks he deserves your gaze,” he said, voice low and threatening.
She faltered, her gaze shifting down before locking on him again, her mouth opening then closing.
That hesitation lit something wild in him.
Gods, she wanted to. She wanted him to break past her armor, to push until she bent. He could feel it in her body, in her eyes, in the stubborn silence that was no silence at all. She’d lived her life carrying strength like a blade, forced to be defiant, forced to prove, never allowed to yield.
But here she was begging without words for that weight to be stripped from her shoulders. To fall without fear.
He would be the man to teach her how to give in, to surrender without shame.
He would destroy her and remake her. Piece by piece.
Until she was his in every way.
Right now, he only needed to close the distance, to take whatever she gave, to drown himself in it. Because he would take it like the jealous, greedy bastard she’d turned him into.
Fuck, he wanted her.
His stubborn, relentless, merciless Ella.
He stepped in until space ceased to exist between them, his thigh driving between hers, his hand closing around her jaw in a grip that offered no escape. Her breath caught, but she didn’t push him away.
He had meant to demand answers, to drag the truth out of her about what that look at the portrait had meant, but the sight of her lips parted and eyes daring him to show her his dark intentions had every question in his mind burning to ash.
In fact, the whole fucking world could burn. Nothing else mattered except this.
He didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the consequences.
Jakobav closed the distance, his mouth taking hers in a deep kiss that was pure hunger, the kind of claim that left no room for doubt.
She met him head-on, kissing him back harder, hungrier, her fingers fisting in his hair and pulling him closer with a wildness that was lust incarnate. The taste of her hit him like Fae wine poured straight into his veins, subtly sweet and dangerously addictive.
Fucking delicious.
He broke the kiss only long enough to lean down and drag his hands up the backs of her thighs, lifting her and pulling her against him so fiercely that she let out a half-gasp half-moan, before he claimed her mouth again in an all-consuming kiss.
With her legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, he tightened his grip on her hips, thrusting his hips forward just enough to make her feel exactly what she’d done to him.
The garden swayed around them, thorns and roses leaning close as if eager to witness their ruin.
When she gasped, he swallowed the sound and drove the kiss harder, coaxing giving way to the conquest that burned between them. He kissed her with the full intent to ruin every other taste she’d ever known, to make her remember only him.
Whatever hesitation she’d carried earlier was gone; Ella came alive beneath him, tearing her lips from his and biting the side of his neck before soothing the mark with her tongue. Her devious mouth and those soft lips made him somehow even harder.
The groan that tore from him was raw, guttural, ripping free before he could stop it. He’d never made a sound like that for anyone. Not once.
He lowered her slowly, her body sliding against his, and stepped back—just enough to take in the sight of her.
Her dress had ridden up, and the glimpse he caught beneath it slammed straight through him, a need so intense it bordered on pain.
He wanted more of her. Wanted to taste beyond her mouth.
Wanted to devour every inch she’d let him touch.
He forced himself a few steps back, fighting for air.
“Gods,” he breathed, the words torn from him before he could stop them. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Color rose to her cheeks, a soft, blooming pink, her dark hair falling in messy waves around her face.
Instead of shying away, she lifted her chin in that stubborn, defiant way of hers, as if daring him to see all of her.
His gaze locked with hers, chest heaving, every muscle strung tight with the truth of it: his restraint was gone.
If she pushed him back now, he would stop.
But gods, he prayed she wouldn’t.
She didn’t. She smirked, parted her lips, sucked in a small breath, and waited.
That was all it took. His control shattered as he closed the distance between them. Jakobav guided her, laying her backward, gently toward the ground, wishing he had a fur blanket to lay beneath her.
As he lowered himself, steel brushed his forearm. Her weapons. Even now, she was armed to the teeth, blades sitting against skin he was about to taste.
His gaze flicked to the Velmirian steel at her waist—Thane’s blade—and something dark and territorial snarled through him. He slipped it from the sheath with one hand and tossed it aside, out of anyone else’s reach but his.
But the knife strapped to her thigh? He left it. He liked her dangerous.
And gods help anyone who thought of taking even one weapon from her. Except him.
He didn’t give her more than a breath before he shoved her dress up farther and lowered himself between her thighs.
He hooked her legs over his shoulders and tore her undergarments away with his teeth, the scraps ripping clean before he caught them in one hand and stuffed them into his pocket, a gift he would save for later.
Then his hands were on her again, one palm gripping the curve of her ass, the other circling her clit until her body arched against him. His fingers slid lower, grazing the wetness he had dreamed of, the kind that had haunted him since the first time he discovered it.
“Gods, Ella,” he rasped, fingers slick with her arousal as he worked her open. “You’re soaked for me.”
Her hips lifted helplessly, meeting every stroke of his fingers, her breath breaking apart in soft, desperate sounds he wanted burned into him forever. The scent of her filled the air, sharp and intoxicating, growing heavier with every second he teased her like that.
“Fuck,” she whimpered.
Then his mouth was on her, and she tasted like heat and sin.