They were alone now, the two of them. Something she had thought about too many times since their violent parting.

To see him again had been one thing for her thoughts to contend with, but to be alone with him? That was something else entirely. Those thoughts had come to her often, and mostly at moontide when she could not sleep, sliding her fingers between her thighs as she recalled the firmness of his hand, the cruelty of his mouth. Relief had been a temporary beast, always leaving her wanting, for while she knew how to touch herself, it was a poor relation to his touch.

There was a part of her—that part nestling deep inside her veins—that hated that she wanted him. He'd become everything she should despise. The Elite Guard were the hand and blade of the King, and now Juda was to be one of them. She knew his intentions were not to enact Ban-Keren's will, but the very thought of him wearing the distinctive scarlet and black uniform of the Elite Guard and all that it represented made her feel nauseous.

And yet she couldn't deny the heat she felt whenever she was near him, or how her heart roared like the Setalah did when it crashed against the sea stacks during a storm.

How was that even possible? To feel all these things at once—hate, turbulence, desire—was like a disturbance in her soul, a stumble of her raging heart that could not be quelled.

"Please..." he said again.

He'd said it twice since the others had left the bedchamber, Elara pleading with her friends give them both some time when she saw Juda's face harden upon her insistence she would not do as he asked. She wasn't sure she could bear to hear him say it a third time.

She could feel him at her back. The closeness of his body emanating warmth up her spine. A battle between yearning for his touch and wanting to push him away; to get as much distance from him as she could.

"Elara..."

His voice was too soft. Too unlike him. She wanted his rage and his malice. His cold aloofness. She knew how to deal with that, for she held enough of all those things inside her to be able to do battle with him. Softness, she couldn't fight.

His hand was on her shoulder, fingertips ghosting her collarbone.

Stop, stop, please, stop.

The storm rose within, and she grasped it, whirling around and shoving her palms against his chest. He winced notably, as if something pained him there, a recent injury perhaps.

"Do not ask me again, I swear, by my foremothers, do not."

She went to shove him again, but he caught her wrists and held firm so that she couldn't pull free from his hold. By the blessed waters, she could scarcely look into his face without wanting to crush her mouth against his.

"Let go, Juda," she demanded through gritted teeth.

He shook his head and tightened his grip. It hurt a little, but she would use it, add it to the rest and let the anger build. She would not go soft on him now.

"I cannot," he said, his breath hard on her face. "I know I ask a lot, I know it, Elara. But I have lost too much..." His mouth crumpled, pain dragging on his sharp features. "If you only knew, then you would understand why I cannot let you do this. You will not survive this place, these people..."

"These people are our people," she said, her fingers clawing at the buckles on his leather tunic.

"And they would see you hang and would celebrate in the streets as your neck broke," he said, his voice thick with bitterness. "They would raise their cups and drink their fill and dance as the life drained from your body. Don't think they wouldn't."

"Except it wouldn't be me hanging from the palace walls, would it?" she said. "It would be a decoy, for we both know I'd be chained up behind the black gates, used by the King to bear his bastard children and my blood used to keep him alive until he was done with me."

His eyes widened and she saw there that he did know the truth, as Roth had told it to her.

"It will not happen, by my blood, it will not," he insisted, releasing her wrists only to wrap his arms about her and clutch at her back. "But this is why you must board that trade ship to Dreynia. Only then when you are out of reach of the King and Dageor can you truly be safe, from them, from the people..."

"I have lived here my entire life, Juda. Grimefell is my home, the people are..."

"...people from whom you have concealed your true self for that entire life, and you did that because you understood too well the threat they posed. Do you honestly believe you can transform a lifetime of hatred for the Naiad into...into what? Faith? Kinship? You might have convinced your friends, but think you can turn the whole citadel?"

She bunched her hands into fists but did not push against him this time. She had to make him see, to believe.

"You were once the same as them," she said. "You had reason enough to hate the Naiad too. The dead fields are only that because of what my foremothers did to Druvaria, they were not always cursed to poison all that toil there." She saw the flicker of pain in his eyes and did not want to evoke dark, agonising memories, but pressed on. She had to. "If you could learn to accept the truth, then so can the people. You do them a disservice if you think they cannot."

Anger swept over his face in a wave. "And you give them too much credit. All this talk of revolution, it is a dream, Elara, a fine one, yes, but still a dream. Maybe Druvaria does not deserve your truth. Did you think of that? Even now they drag women to their deaths. They have learnt nothing since the age of your foremothers. They are as complicit now as they were then."

Elara hesitated. She couldn't help it, because even as she did not want to admit it, she knew what had been happening since Ban-Keren had flooded Grimefell with news of the Naiads return. Bazel had told her enough, and even the boy, whose stories were often lurid and colourful and peppered with scandal, had spoken in muted, dullen tones with fear in his eyes whenever he dared to meet her gaze.

But she had seen the force of what Grimefell could do. She had felt it, been amongst it all, as their souls burned with an intoxicating fervour, and their hearts raged for more. It was time. All their fire needed was a little more stoking and the flames of dissent would reach the palace walls.

"They will learn, Juda. I know it. They stand on the precipice of revolution and the more the King abuses his power, the closer they are to the edge."

"At the edge they might be," he said, "but what if stepping off that precipice doesn't take them on the path you wish for them? What if they tumble? It's a long drop to the bottom of the Setalah."

Elara scowled, withdrawing her hand as if touching him burned her. "Why must you be so fucking obstructive? Why can't you have some hope?"

"Because hope is for the foolish," he snapped, releasing her. "I deal in certainties, Elara. Not dreams. I deal only with what I know I can control. I cannot control these people, and neither can you. They will do whatever befits them and nothing more. The only thing I can control is my blade and the certainty that Ban-Keren will breathe his last by my doing and nobody else's. I have spent most of my life heading towards this one certainty."

Elara stepped back. "You only deal with what you know you can control?" she scoffed. "Well, you clearly can't control me, so how do you expect to deal with that? How will you deal with me, Elite Highguard Vikaris?"

If there had been any softness within his eyes, it was eradicated in an instant, replaced by the Juda she had first seen in the Naiad temple. His stare became dark and weighty, and she marvelled at how quickly the shadow seemed to envelop his features, and how it made her heart judder in her chest to see it.

"In exactly the same way I have since we first met, witch."

The edge to his voice only served to slice over her skin, raising goosebumps over flesh that yearned for him.

"And how is that? On your back with my waters binding you?"

He cocked his head to the side, scrutinising her with his dark gaze. "Interesting that you believe this is a one-sided game we're playing here."

He closed the gap between them again, manoeuvring his body so that he stood to the side of her, reaching to run the pad of his thumb up behind her ear. She shuddered as he brushed over her Naiad mark.

"I don't wish to control you, Elara. But I do know how to deal with you, for you know how to deal with me, and that is what binds us together. Not the waters. Not the blade." He bent so that his face nuzzled her hair, his thumb tracing the edge of the delicate fold, only to sigh and replace his digit with his mouth.

Elara inhaled sharply, gripping his arm as his lips played that same soft song over her skin. When his gentle touch switched in an instant to something firmer, a hard flick of his tongue, Elara could take no more. With anger and desire catching flame over her skin, she twisted to face him, threading her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down so she could crush her lips against his. He opened for her, his tongue sliding hungrily over hers, his hands grasping at her back.

Fuck, how she'd missed the taste of him, the heat of his body pressed against hers.

She'd never cared much for kissing her lovers before this. Better to forgo the intimacy and get to the grind and inevitable release. It had served a purpose, nothing more. For them. For her. Even with Cree—the only one she'd allowed to return to her numerous times—the intimacy had come with his needle etching the delicate script along her shoulder blades and down her spine, not with his mouth upon hers. Upon other parts of her, yes, that she had allowed, and encouraged, but kissing had never been her thing.

Not until Juda.

She knew she'd never tire of his mouth devouring hers, the press of his lips, the flavour of him on her tongue. She could barely wrench her mouth away from his to unbuckle his leather vest, but had to, albeit reluctantly, when the buckles became obstinate to her efforts. He released her, briefly, to assist, tugging at the tough hide. There was freshly broken skin on his swollen knuckles, as if he had pummelled at the rock with his fist, but she said nothing, instead meeting his steady gaze with her own, until finally all was undone, and he slipped off the heavy vest and dropped it to the floor with a muffled thud.

Pulling him to the bed, Elara pressed on his shoulders, forcing him to sit on the edge. Spreading his thighs, he tugged her to him, his fingers finding the hem of her tunic and pushing it up over her stomach, her breasts, until she finished the job, yanking it off and throwing it across the room. She kissed him again, unable to resist, before dropping to her knees. Lifting his undershirt, she peeled it from his body, pausing only when she saw the thin, angry slash across the breadth of his chest.

This had been the reason for his wince when she had pushed against him. She had been right. A recent wound, its edges a livid red, she wondered what he had endured to earn this, and looked up into his eyes in silent question. She understood then what he had meant, that strange comment he had made which had caused his pained expression.

I have lost too much...if only you knew...

She'd assumed he was referring to his mother, but something else had happened, and recently too if his wounds were anything to go by. What had happened to him in the tides they had been apart?

She would ask him of it, but not now. Now she just touched her lips featherlight to the wound on his chest, swept her tongue over it not to pain him, but to show him she understood. Juda hissed out a breath, which deepened into a moan as she dropped one hand to his thigh, gliding her hand to his crotch. He shifted on the edge of the bed, leaning back a little to allow her greater access and she took advantage of the angle to kiss down his taut stomach. Glancing down she could see the hard outline of his cock through his britches. Impatience clawed at her. By her blood, she needed him then.

The laces of his britches came apart easily—a mercy for she could not bear the struggle, her frustration would drive her mad—and she tugged them over his hips, her mouth watering at the sight of his bare thighs. She couldn't resist pressing a soft kiss to the side of his knee, as she pulled his britches free of his ankles and pushed them aside, glancing up at him as her mouth lingered there.

Juda leant back, resting on his hands, cocking his head, that arrogant gleam in his eyes that only served to spur her on. Always a dare, a challenge, with this one.

"Are you just going to look at it, or do you need me to tell you what to do?"

Elara trailed her mouth a little further up his thigh and smiled up at him. "Think I need instruction?"

She moved closer still, her teeth playfully nipping at his skin, relishing the dark glint in his eyes. Her fingers brushed the base of his cock, which twitched under her touch, his lips parting. "Go ahead then. Instruct me. I think I should like to have you say it."

Juda's gaze was weighty under hooded lids. "How do I know you'll do what I ask? You've not exactly agreed to my demands so far, this moontide."

"Then demand of me something I'm willing to do."

Reaching out with one hand, he traced the curve of her lips, gently coaxing open her mouth with the tip of his forefinger. "I want you to fuck me with your mouth."

Elara slid her tongue over his finger, closing her mouth around it and sucking, giving him a taster of what was to come. He looked down at her under his lashes, perfectly still, breathing deeply, his own tongue visible.

His breath drew in sharp and harsh when she took him fully in her hand, rubbing the glistening tip with her thumb, before grasping it firmly and stroking him with her palm. The tiny growl stuttered in the back of his throat, and he dropped back onto his elbows. By the dead gods, he was fucking perfection like this. All firm lines and smooth skin. Teeth scraping against his lower lip. His cock in her hand, breath quickening with each stroke.

"Elara...your mouth." He groaned. "Fuck me."

She raised herself up a little higher, pressing a chaste, teasing kiss to the tip, before taking the length of it into her hungry mouth. He gasped, instinctively lifting his hips to meet the rhythm of her mouth as she took him inside over and over, sometimes concentrating on the head, sometimes taking him in all the way to the base. She pulled off for a moment, licking her lips and relishing the sight of her saliva glistening over the entire length of him.

His head dropped back as she swirled her tongue around him, sucking him back into her mouth, and encircling the base with her hand and stroking gently. When he uttered her name, the throaty sound of it tingled down her spine and she squeezed her thighs together, desperate to slide her fingers between her legs but knowing the release would come too soon for her. She needed his hand. His mouth. His cock. Anything, but it had to be him. She'd thought about it too much for it to be anything but that now.

Her tongue slicked over the slit and his hips thrust again, muscles straining in his thighs and stomach. She covered the head, the movement slow and deliberately torturous as she slid her lips down the length once more, until she could feel the full weight of him in her mouth. He watched her, breath rasping, as she moved on him again and again, fucking him with her lips and tongue, just as he'd demanded.

"Yes...Elara, fuck..." he whispered, his fingers digging into the bedclothes, hips moving, unable to keep still.

Elara was practically throbbing now, her thighs wet as she moaned around his cock, her lips swollen.

"Elara...wait...stop..."

She drew back, looking up at him in surprise, as he sat up, grasping a handful of her hair and crushing his mouth against hers. The force of it was almost painful, but she kissed him back hard and let him pull her up onto the bed. She straddled his lap, and he smoothed his palm over the curve of her behind. They stilled for a moment, foreheads touching.

"I thought you wanted me to fuck you?" she said, tracing his jawline with her thumb.

"You did," he replied, catching her lower lip between his teeth, and sliding his hand between her legs, easing through her wetness, and pushing a finger inside. The groan she gave was louder than she'd expected, a blessed relief from the cries she'd had to stifle with her fist since she'd been in hiding. Juda smiled against her open mouth and pushed deeper, catching her moan on his tongue. Grabbing the length of her hair, he twisted it out of the way, kissing up her face, to her ear and then behind, his mouth fastening on her Naiad mark.

"Juda..." she gasped. "Fu...ck." The words stuttered over her lisp as he went to work with his hand and mouth. She rocked against him, feeling his hardness jerk against the inside of her damp thigh, his low moans vibrating against the sensitive skin behind her ear.

It was too much. She knew it would be.

She had to stop before she lost herself completely.

Reaching down, she grabbed his hand and pushed it out of the way. His gaze wavered for a moment, eyes soon widening when she reached for him instead, wrapping her fingers around the base of his cock and guiding herself onto him. She'd waited long enough, and the Naiad—the dark one that both relished and hated this—screamed under her skin, the desire and fury desperate to be unleashed.

Juda's hands found her behind and lifted her, pulling her closer as she slid further onto him, her slick thighs tight around his hips. Wrapping her arms around him, she savoured the taut muscles of his back, the fine sheen of perspiration coating his skin, the way her name sounded on his lips as she nipped at his throat.

The initial languid rhythm of their bodies was controlled, but the slow, shallow thrusts were teasing, sending ripples up her spine, and wrenching the pleas from her mouth. Her voice sounded different, low and muffled, as if she were under the surface, every aching whisper of his name formed out of fragments of her soul.

Squeezing herself around him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, their pace quickened, the strokes deeper, harder. Juda's hand found her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple, maddening licks of flame over the puckered flesh and she offered herself to his mouth, turning her head until his lips found that most sensitive, secret part of her again. As his tongue flickered over the edge, she felt the last pieces of her breaking away. Whatever she had held back from him—for there had always been a part of her she hadn't wanted him to reach, a part of her that remained cold and unbreakable—shattered as his tongue lapped against her, as he rocked deep inside her.

"Yes..." She groaned, unable to stop the feeling as it swept her over the rocks, crashing her body against the shoreline in waves of pleasure that felt violent, relentlessly so. "Juda...Juda...my love...fuck, yes."

Juda inhaled sharply, wrenching his mouth from her neck, moving one hand to grip the edge of the bed, the other tightly grabbing her hip as he raised his own. She was still rocking against him, riding him, and he was moving under her, breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat and hunger.

Something had shifted in Juda's gaze as he looked into her eyes, a brief flicker of the Juda she had seen in his boyhood chamber at Roth's house. She wanted to reach for him then and pull him tight against her, embrace him like the Setalah embraced her, fully, as if they were one entity. Before she could, he tore his gaze from hers and threw back his head, eyes closed, mouth open as his release hit hard, his cry of pleasure raw and feral.

She felt the strong pulse of him inside her, the warm flood of him spilling out, until finally, he dropped back on the bed, pulling her with him. Elara collapsed onto his chest, cheek pressed to his damp skin, and let the last waves rise and fall over her body.

The thrum of his heartbeat resounded loud against her ear, and she wondered then how she had never noticed it before. She'd heard that same sound calling to her for her entire life. That same familiar beat as soon as her body would hit the water. Rushing into her ears, vibrating under her skin.

Juda Vikaris' heart sounded just like the sea.