Chapter 102

Kennard’s fingers crept beneath the hem of Elena’s chemise, slowly gathering the fabric from behind her waist and drawing it upward, inch by inch.

With each movement, the soft rustle of silk broke the hush that lingered beneath the curtains.

“It’s been a week since I last touched you,” he murmured, his voice low and feverish against her ear.

When the warmth of his tongue slipped into the curve behind it, Elena flinched, her breath catching. She shut her eyes tight, lashes brushing her cheeks as a tremor passed through her.

The rising hem traced a warm path along her skin, leaving sparks in its wake. Her body stirred involuntarily, toes curling with the rush of sensation.

Her legs grew unsteady, and she instinctively pressed a hand to his chest for balance, leaning closer as though gravity itself were drawing her in.

“Trying to tempt me?” Kennard’s whisper rasped against her, rough and dark with want.

He pressed closer, then in one smooth motion, tugged the chemise up past her chest.

“Ah…”

A sharp breath escaped her lips. Though it was only a thin layer removed, the sudden exposure to the cool night air sent goosebumps rippling across her skin.

“Hold this,” he said.

Guiding her hands to the bunched fabric, he sank to one knee.

“Wait—Your Grace…”

Startled, Elena shifted back, but his hands caught her before she could escape, anchoring her in place.

With smoldering eyes, Kennard looked up—and then lowered his head.

His lips closed over her, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles before gliding upward in a single heated stroke. At the same time, his other hand found its way to her other side, rough fingers teasing, then pinching with maddening precision.

“Mm…”

Elena trembled, her breath faltering.

She bit down hard, struggling to hold back the sounds rising in her throat. But even then, a soft moan escaped.

They weren’t alone.

The knights outside might be at a distance, but she knew the wolfkin. Their senses—hearing, scent, sight—were far sharper than any human’s. In a castle, she might’ve felt safe. But here, behind nothing more than a curtain?

Every sound felt dangerously loud.

That was why Kennard had restrained himself for the past week, holding her as they slept but never going further.

So then—why tonight…?

She braced herself, pushing gently at his shoulders.

But the more she resisted, the more tightly he wrapped his arm around her waist, locking her in place.

And then, without warning, he bit her—firm and unrelenting.

“Ah!”

A sharp sting burst through her chest, radiating outward in waves that left her gasping.

Kennard glanced up briefly, then shifted, his mouth replacing his hand on the other side. The skin he’d left behind glistened, reddened and slick with his touch, faint teeth marks already rising.

He continued slowly, alternating between tenderness and torment, lips and tongue moving with deliberate rhythm.

Elena raised both hands to cover her mouth, trying desperately to muffle the sounds threatening to spill out.

But as if to challenge her restraint, his hand drifted lower, slipping between her thighs.

“Ha…”

Elena let out a ragged breath, her fingers unconsciously digging into Kennard’s shoulders, clutching him with desperate intensity.

His hand—broad, sure—pressed deeper inside her, slow and unyielding, as though coaxing open a door long sealed.

“Breathe. Don’t tense,” Kennard murmured, lips still warm against her chest.

But relaxing was impossible.

Her arms and legs had begun to lose strength, melting beneath his touch—yet deep inside, she clenched tighter with every passing second. The contrast sent her spiraling; her body reacting in ways she could neither stop nor understand.

His mouth moved with greater pressure, while his fingers searched her depths with unhurried familiarity—brushing delicately along her inner walls, then pressing against places that made her knees tremble.

Each deliberate motion sent a fresh wave coursing through her, pulling her under. It was only one part of her body—one hidden even from her own sight—but the sensations bloomed through her like wildfire.

The soft, wet sounds between them echoed obscenely in the stillness, too loud in the hush of the curtained space.

“Your Grace… please.” Elena gasped, shaking her head, her voice breaking on the edge of panic. “Not here. They’ll hear…”

Tears shimmered in her eyes—not from pain, but from the confusion, the vulnerability of being completely undone by someone when others might be listening.

Her body refused to lie, clinging to his presence even as her mind recoiled.

She no longer recognized herself. The want, the shame—it was all too much.

Kennard paused.

Without a word, he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Ah—”

Even that—the sudden absence of him—made her shiver.

He didn’t step away at once. Instead, he rested his face gently against her chest, lips brushing her skin in a lingering kiss, as though to say he hadn’t wanted to stop.

Then he rose to his feet.

Elena let go of the chemise’s hem, hands falling to her sides.

The fabric slipped from her grasp with a soft whisper, pooling silently at her feet. Across the room, Kennard reached for a cloth on the table, wiping his hand—still damp from touching her.

His gaze, however, never wavered. Even as he cleaned his fingers, he was watching her.

Elena turned away, unwilling to meet the intensity in his eyes. Even in the dim light, they burned with a quiet fire.

“Then somewhere they won’t hear us…” Kennard said at last, his voice calm, almost thoughtful. “That would be acceptable?”

Her head whipped around, eyes wide.

“What did you say?” she asked, stunned, uncertain she’d heard him correctly.

“I said,” he repeated, already crossing the room, “if no one can hear us—can I hold you then?”

It sounded like a question, but something in his tone told her the answer had already been chosen.

He picked up his coat—folded neatly earlier by Cura—and slipped it on without fastening it. Then he reached for the fur blanket that had been draped over the cot.

“Your Grace, what are you—?”

He didn’t answer.

Without a word, he approached and wrapped the fur around her shoulders, carefully enclosing her as though sealing in her warmth.

“Wait—Your Grace—!”

She barely got the words out before his arms swept under her, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.

And just like that, he stepped past the curtain, carrying her out into the night.

Elena was too stunned to speak. Not even a breath escaped her lips.

No—she had cried out, but the sound never made it past her lips. It was swallowed whole, lost in the air between them.

Even so, just the thought of the knights seeing her like this—held so intimately in Kennard’s arms—sent a sharp chill down her spine.

But the fear proved needless.

Outside, the knights lay sprawled around the dying campfire, asleep or pretending to be. The attendants had curled up near the wagons, scattered in quiet clumps of slumber.

Or perhaps… they weren’t asleep at all.

Perhaps they were awake—listening, knowing—and simply choosing to keep their eyes closed, giving their master the illusion of privacy.

Regardless, not a soul stirred. No one raised their head. The silence beyond the curtain was absolute, almost eerie in its stillness.

Elena tucked her face into the crook of Kennard’s neck.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to hold him back—but the heavy fur he’d wrapped around her made it impossible. Her body was bundled tight, only her head free to move.

The moment they stepped beyond the tent, Kennard walked straight into the woods without pause, his stride sure and unhurried. It was as if the darkness parted for him, revealing a path only he could see.

Beneath his bare feet, dry twigs cracked softly—but he didn’t flinch. Not once.

Pain seemed a distant thing to him as he moved deeper into the forest, unbothered by roots or thorns or stones hidden in the soil.

The nighttime chorus that had filled the air just minutes ago—chirping insects, whispering leaves, the distant hoot of owls—vanished all at once. Silence fell like a blanket.

It was as if the forest itself had gone still, watching them pass, uncertain of their purpose.

Kennard moved carefully, shielding her with his body as he pushed through low branches and tall grass, never once letting her skin brush against the wild.

Elena glanced up—and froze.

His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dark, reflecting light that wasn’t there.

Something about the way they gleamed—quiet, burning—held her captive. She couldn’t look away.

“Where are we going?” she whispered, her voice small but steady.

She trusted him. She knew he wouldn’t take her anywhere dangerous. And yet… the woods at night awakened something primal, something afraid.

Memories stirred—sharp, cold.

The night he had taken her into the forest as the black wolf. The bitter chill that had sunk into her bones. The fear of being left behind. The sudden attack from the White Fox Tribe, fangs bared, eyes full of rage.

He wouldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t.

Still, the memory made her shiver.

Kennard felt it instantly. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer to his chest.

“Cold?” he murmured. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her skin, then quickened his pace.

He couldn’t have known what she was thinking—but somehow, his touch answered it all the same. A quiet reassurance. A promise.

Elena sighed, a soft breath escaping her lips as she let her head rest once more against his shoulder.