Chapter 55

Elena’s body bobbed with increasing intensity, pushed upwards with each of his movements. Her hands clawed at the bedside table cushions, finding purchase on the headboard.

The bed rocked in rhythm with their bodies as Kennard thrust inside her. The curtains, hanging like drapery along columns, danced with the violence of their passion. The bed might splinter at any moment, but it was the furthest thing from her mind.

“Your Grace,” she gasped, pushing on Kennard’s shoulders with one hand. “Perhaps a little slower…”

The tightness surrounding her made it hard to breathe, and heat pulsed through her, setting her blood on fire. Her consciousness swam, a heady mix of exertion and something primal, intoxicating. Her arm, straining to hold the headboard, gave way with a tremor.

“Does it still hurt?” Kennard asked, easing himself up and allowing her legs to fall over his shoulders.

“Not exactly…” Elena grimaced, a strangled cry escaping her lips as he shifted them to a new, even more precarious position.

Kennard lowered her back down, but with a lingering possessiveness that left him firmly embedded. The phantom sensation of him still moving inside her intensified her mix of embarrassment, shame, and a thrilling shiver that snaked down her spine.

“I can’t control myself,” he whispered in her ear, his voice sending shivers cascading down her neck. As he straddled her back, he nipped at her earlobe, his tongue tracing the inside before cupping her bre*st.

“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to hold you? Days, years, even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to satiate this lust for you.” Kennard’s voice dipped low, a rumbling promise as he began to move again.

He withdrew slowly, allowing his touch to linger against her sensitive walls before returning in a single, powerful thrust. Each deep press sent a jolt through her core, an upward push that left her breathless.

“Ah,” Elena whimpered, burying her face in his fur. Moans threatened to escape, a desperate plea for release.

“Elena, you’re mine,” Kennard declared, his voice thick with possessiveness. “There’s no one else, ever.”

Tears welled in her eyes at his words. A flicker of hope ignited – perhaps his possessiveness stemmed from a deeper connection? Desire surged back, a thrilling counterpoint to the vulnerability blooming in her chest.

Kennard cupped her chin, his touch gentle yet firm. He tilted her head until their gazes met, then found her lips with his own. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked, but Elena didn’t care. In that kiss, she poured out a torrent of emotions – raw desire, a yearning for connection, and a vulnerability she couldn’t quite control.

* * *

Elena lay sprawled on the bed, propped on one arm, fast asleep. Her red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks spoke of recent tears. “A little more weight,” Kennard murmured, “and she’d be perfect.”

He remembered finding her months ago – fragile, a skeleton cloaked in cuts. A touch, it seemed, would have reduced her to dust. Vulnerability ignited a fierce anger within him. He’d yearned to grab her, to demand answers for her bewildering arrival. But her amnesia had rendered him powerless, a frustration that still weighed heavily on him.

At least now, she was healthier. Her cheeks held a flush of color, and her once-thin frame had filled out. Though sunlight struggled through the overcast sky, her hair shone with a newfound vibrancy. Yet, the scars remained, a harsh tapestry etched across her body. Last night, their stark reality had stoked a primal urge within him.

A new scar marred her chest, a grim reminder of Hazel’s treachery. He’d meant every word when he’d threatened to kill her on the spot.

Lost in thought, Kennard traced a strand of Elena’s red hair, matted against the pillow. His fingers lingered on her cheek, recalling the gentle curves he’d explored the night before. Back then, her body had held a pleasing fullness.

Unable to resist any longer, he brushed his lips against hers. Soft and yielding, they felt like ripe fruit, an undeniable invitation. But a mere touch wouldn’t sate him.

Torn between desire and restraint, Kennard hovered over Elena. A kiss, a touch – would it rouse her? His blood pulsed, fueled by the memory of her fervent grip, the possessiveness that mirrored his own. He fought the urge to engulf her, to claim her completely.

He pressed his lips to hers, a fleeting touch, then studied her face for a reaction. None came. The fur shifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of creamy flesh. A single perfect peak stood out, a beacon of invitation. He cupped her bre*st, the touch gentle, then his fingers tightened on the sensitive nub. A twist, a flick – a test.

Her brow furrowed momentarily, but sleep held her fast. Frustration gnawed at him. He maneuvered her, one arm finding the curve of her neck, the other tracing the delicate line of her shoulder. He cupped her bre*st, his touch more insistent now. He took a hold of the peak, the soft flesh yielding to his ministrations. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled by sleep.

“Damn it,” he muttered, a low growl escaping his throat. The frustration of simply looking at her, so near yet so out of reach, was a physical ache. How long had it been? Last night, their tangled bodies had been inseparable, a marathon of passion that stretched from dusk until dawn.

The wait stretched on, an agonizing eternity despite the relentless march of time. Sunlight, filtering through the partially open curtains, revealed it was already late afternoon. Disappointment gnawed at him.

“Still asleep,” he muttered, the words heavy with frustration. “You haven’t even eaten.”

He yearned to rouse her, to sweep her into his arms. Reason, however, held him back. There would be other times, he reassured himself. He could hold her, look at her, have her beside him – always. The only fear was that desire, a relentless tide, would eventually drown out his restraint.

A faint chime, followed by a knock on the door, shattered the fragile peace. Kennard didn’t need to see who it was; the scent of Serin’s pheromones, a persistent presence since dawn, gave him away. Another knock echoed, and Kennard sighed. He didn’t want to be disturbed, but ignoring Serin was no longer an option. He knew exactly why he was here.

Gently, he lifted Elena, careful not to disturb her slumber. He draped the fur over her, hiding the evidence of their intimacy, then reached for his discarded trousers and pulled them on. Barefoot, he crossed the room and flung open the door to reveal a waiting Serin.

Kennard, bare-chested and hair disheveled, leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Serin’s jaw slackened.

“Get dressed,” he muttered, his irritation barely contained. “How long do you plan to stay here anyway?”

Kennard raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Soldiers from Montefiano have arrived.”

“I’m aware.”

“Aware?” Serin’s voice spiked. “Didn’t you smell the reeking pheromones of three hundred wolves a mile away? They were practically at the gates before sunrise!”

Disbelief contorted Serin’s face. He shook his head. “Of course your superior sense of smell would pick that up. But why haven’t you joined them?”

“You’re the head Templar, Serin. You don’t need a babysitter. You have men on the border, don’t you?”

Serin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not about that. Do you think a pep talk from me, a lowly Knight Templar, compares to the Grand Duke and Lord Commander himself?”

Kennard’s patience wore thin. He leaned closer, his arm brushing against the doorway. “Are they easily offended by my absence? Is that the real reason for your delay?”

Serin frowned, siding with the soldiers. “Absolutely not. Apparently, a landslide blocked the road. They had to take a detour.”

“A landslide?” Kennard echoed, skepticism lacing his voice.