Chapter 518: Erica...hmm?
And then his eyes landed on her.
A lone figure sat stiffly in the chair beside the bed, her back turned toward him. Her dress was loose and long, covering every curve, every inch of skin, as though she were hiding herself from others.
Julian raised a brow in amusement. What woman sits in the breeding hall with the posture of a nun?
He stepped forward. "Erica... is that you?"
The figure did not move, did not speak anything. Silence filled the room, long enough for him to tilt his head in curiosity. He could hear the faint sound of her breath, the sound of her shifting in her seat and finally, after what felt like an eternity, her voice broke the silence.
"...Yes. I am."
Julian’s grin widened, the sound of her voice confirming the suspicion that had been dancing in his mind ever since Riya mentioned her name. He circled closer, his shadow now stretching until it touched her where she sat.
"You hide your face, your body, even your breath," he murmured. "But your voice, Erica... that gives you away."
Her shoulders stiffened at that.
Julian stepped closer, closing the last of the space until he was just behind her. She didn’t move, didn’t turn, though he could feel the way her body betrayed her—each breath a little sharper, each muscle a little tighter.
Leaning down, his lips hovered dangerously near her ear. "So it seems," he whispered, "the Elder has just as much desire as she has devotion to her husband."
The words hung in the air like a poison and honey all at once. Erica’s fingers clenched on her robes, trying her best to silence the pulse that hammered through her chest. She wanted to speak, to rebuke him, but she didn’t—because the moment he said it, she knew he was right.
Julian smirked at her silence. He tilted his head, allowing his breath to graze along the curve of her neck. "Did the elder’s desire win in the end?"
She finally exhaled. "You... you dare speak to me like this," she spat, though it carried no anger. "I am the Elder, bound to my vows..." She paused. "And yet—why does my body betray me like this?"
Julian’s smirk widened as he listened, savoring the cracks in her composure. He could feel her leaning ever so slightly into the heat of his breath, even as she tried to convince herself she was resisting.
"You think I don’t see it?" he murmured. "You hide behind titles, behind devotion, but here—" his hand ghosted over her waist, not quite touching, but close enough to make her shudder, "—you are just a woman. A woman who aches."
Her lips parted, but no words came. A flush crept up her neck, visible even beneath the layers of fabric she had wrapped herself in as a shield.
At last, her voice returned, raw and trembling:
"Stop... saying these things... You make it impossible for me to breathe." Her confession came out in a hushed plea, but the very fact that she hadn’t pulled away told Julian all he needed to know.
"You want me to stop?" Julian chuckled darkly. "Or do you want me to keep peeling away every lie you’ve told yourself until nothing is left but truth?"
She finally turned her head, just enough that he could see her eyes. As he had expected—it was wide and glassy with desire. Her lips parted again, this time lower, needier:
"I hate you for making me feel this way," she whispered, her eyes flicking low again, "but gods help me... I don’t want you to stop."
Julian’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
"You call yourself the Elder," he murmured, his gaze raking over the curve of her shoulders, "but behind this mask, you’re just Erica, hiding from the world... hiding from me. How long have you been pretending? How many lies have you wrapped yourself in so no one would see what you really are?"
Her fingers trembled as she clutched her dress tighter, her her knuckles paling. The silk bunched between her hands, but it couldn’t protect herself from the intensity of the moment.
"Elder," Julian continued, the word dripping with mockery, "doesn’t suit you, does it? Not when your body reacts like this... not when you ache and burn and want me as much as any girl in this village."
Her chest rose and fell unevenly and for a moment, she just stared at the floor, trembling with the shame of being seen, truly seen, by him.
Julian chuckled softly. "Gods, Erica... or should I call you Elder while I fuck that control right out of you?" His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile "Or maybe I should stick to your real name, the one you’ve tried so hard to bury beneath incense and ritual?"
"You... you don’t know what you’re saying," she whispered back, but even she heard the crack in her voice.
He circled behind her, his gaze now falling to the curve of her ass. "You walked here yourself," he murmured. "You came willingly, even hid your name... and now, here you are, acting all innocent. But I know the truth. Like any other woman, you wanted this... wanted your pussy fucked, wanted it hard and deep."
A shiver ran through her body. "Y-you shouldn’t... say things like that..."
Julian’s smirk widened. "Shouldn’t I? Or shouldn’t you?" he whispered, his voice commanding. "Because as far as I know, the obedient, dutiful Elder... she would resist, wouldn’t she? But Erica, the woman? The woman who’s been hiding all her desire behind a mask... she’d burn if I left her like this."
Her knees threatened to buckle. She tensed, caught between ideal role of the Elder and the burning heat of her own desire. Julian’s presence was a mirror, forcing both identities into the same space, and she felt the impossible: the Elder scolding her, Erica trembling with want, and Julian grinning like he owned the space between them.
She tried to straighten her spine, pushing back the fluttering warmth in her belly. "I... I am the Elder. I serve the village. I am not... I will not—"