This Poisoned Tide: The Last Water Witch Book One

CHAPTER 40

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."