Chapter 68

“Don’t rush me,” Kennard murmured against her lips, his voice low and commanding before pressing himself fully inside her.

“Ah…” Elena gasped, feeling the solid weight of him fill her. The sensation was overwhelming—a rush of pressure and an electrifying thrill that spread through her body, making her back arch involuntarily. A soft cry escaped her lips as he finally released her wrists, allowing her arms to circle around his shoulders, her fingers finding the strength and warmth of his muscles beneath her touch.

As she clung to him, Kennard let out a rough breath, settling deep within her. He remained still for a moment, his breath heavy against her neck, as if steadying himself. Elena’s heart thudded in her chest, its beat so intense she wondered if her body could keep up. But then she realized the pounding rhythm wasn’t just hers—his heart raced in sync with hers, both of them caught in the same whirlwind of feeling.

“Relax,” he breathed into her neck, his voice rough with desire. “Or you’re going to make this harder for me.” His grip tightened, pulling her flush against him, and his strength enveloped her as he began to move. Slowly at first, every movement sending waves of sensation through her.

“Oh…” Elena gasped, her body tensing as his rhythm brushed against her most sensitive places. Kennard leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“Elena,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, “do you have any idea how tempting it is to have you always wrapped around me like this? It drives me mad.”

Her body trembled; the sensations were too much to contain. Kennard’s gaze burned with intensity as his movements grew faster, more insistent. Each thrust was deliberate, pushing her closer to the edge. Elena’s fingers dug into his shoulders, gripping him desperately as she tried to steady herself.

“Too… too fast,” Elena gasped, but any plea for him to slow down was in vain. Kennard’s grip on her tightened, his possessiveness deepening with each movement. His voice, low and dangerous, rumbled against her ear as he growled, “If anyone else so much as touches a single strand of your hair, I’ll destroy them. No one else will have you.”

Kennard’s movements became more forceful, each thrust carrying a raw, possessive intensity. “Ah, Kennard!” she cried, her voice breaking as he pressed his lips against hers, silencing her cries with a deep, demanding kiss.

“You’re mine, entirely,” he whispered, his voice like a vow as he held her close, his body driving into hers with a fierce, claiming rhythm. The words, wrapped in the weight of his passion, felt like an unspoken promise. His strength enveloped her, leaving her breathless and consumed by the storm of sensation.

***

Did I fall asleep somehow?

Elena blinked slowly, gradually regaining her senses. Her gaze began to focus, and she realized she was staring at the window in Kennard’s bedroom, framed by a sturdy wooden desk. The window was still wide open, and outside, the night stretched inky black, like the mouth of an ancient beast, dotted with countless stars scattered across the sky.

Though the temperature had risen recently, the nights in Terra Demorte still carried a biting chill. Elena shivered, feeling an odd coldness at her shoulder, though the rest of her body was warm, pressed against something.

“Finally awake, are we?”

A low voice murmured behind her, and Elena startled, turning her head. She found Kennard lying next to her, his arms wrapped around her, his golden eyes glowing softly in the dark as he looked at her.

“Ah! Your Grace…” Elena gasped, sitting up in alarm. But Kennard tightened his arms around her, pulling her flush against him once more.

It was then that she realized he was still within her, his presence deep and firm. A flush crept over her face as her body responded instinctively, the fiery heat of him replacing the coldness she’d felt moments before.

“Your Grace… perhaps… we should stop now…” she murmured, her voice soft, though her heart beat wildly in her chest.

“Not until I’m finished,” he replied with a smirk, his hand tracing the curve of her hip, then moving upward along her waist. His calloused palm, warm and firm, sent tingles up her spine as she felt every deliberate brush of his touch.

“But… you already have, several times…” she whispered, struggling to suppress amo*n that threatened to escape her lips. Her body trembled under his caress.

“Yes, several times,” Kennard murmured against her ear, his voice low and soothing. “But each time, you lost consciousness almost as soon as we began.”

He nibbled gently at her earlobe before trailing his tongue along the sensitive spot just behind it. Elena shivered, memories of the night flooding back in a haze. Since they had entered the bedroom, Kennard had held her so many times—sometimes with an almost feral passion, and other times with a tenderness so gentle it left her breathless.

Her heart raced as he slipped his arm beneath her, cradling her head, while his other hand moved to cup her bre*st, his fingers teasing her sensitive skin. Elena gasped, her body instinctively curling toward him in response to the sensation, drawing him deeper inside.

“Mmmph…” She quickly covered her mouth with her hands, trying to suppress themo*n that escaped her lips.

“Are you trying to tempt me?” Kennard’s hot breath traced down her neck as he gently bit into her skin, his voice rich with playful intent. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to hold back while you were unconscious? I’m not exactly known for my patience.”

His hand traveled down her torso, his fingers moving slowly, deliberately, caressing her waist and dipping lower. Elena’s face flushed, the heat intensifying as she whispered, “Your Grace, it’s already so late…”

She met his gaze, her eyes wide and pleading—not just from her exhaustion, but from the overwhelming sensations that overtook her every time they were together. It felt as though her body and mind no longer belonged to her, swept away by the storm he brought with him. The intensity of it all frightened her as much as it thrilled her, pulling her deeper into a whirl of feelings she couldn’t yet understand.

“I told you, it won’t come out ‘til we finish.”

Kennard tightened his hold, gently pulling Elena’s face closer, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes burned with a smoldering heat as their noses brushed together. The hand that had been tracing soft, lazy circles around her navel now slid lower, exploring the sensitive skin of her body until his fingers found the delicate nub hidden beneath. He began to move in slow, deliberate circles, sending jolts of sensation through her.

“Your Grace, no… please…” Elena’s breath hitched, her entire body tensing as the wave of feeling struck her. Her legs instinctively curled, her toes pointing, and she shivered in his arms.

With a subtle retreat, Kennard pulled back, the loss of his warmth at her back making her ache for him. But just as her mind began to clear, his arm looped around her waist, pulling her close once more. She gasped, the heat between them reigniting.

“The night has only just begun,” he whispered, his voice a soft yet dangerous promise. And with that, he pressed forward again, his body surging back inside her, sending a new wave of sensation through her. Elena melted against him, lost in the feeling, as his presence consumed her completely.

***

The next day, Kennard sat in his study, his brow furrowing as he reviewed the reports before him. The sound of footsteps interrupted his concentration, and he glanced up as Serin placed a stack of newly sorted tribute records on his desk, along with an unmarked letter.

“What’s this?” Kennard asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a letter from the White Fox Tribe, residing in Terra Demorte, Your Grace,” Serin replied.

“A letter?” Kennard leaned back in his chair, eyeing the envelope. It was plain, no emblem or seal, and only a hastily scrawled name: Simir.

“Simir… Isn’t he the village chief?”

“Yes, Your Grace. He is.”

Kennard’s gaze darkened slightly as he examined the letter. “What would he have to write to me about? Did you read it?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” nodded Serin. “They’re requesting permission to hold a ritual during this year’s Sabbath.”

“A ritual?” Kennard’s voice sharpened in surprise. “I thought that day was just for rest and fasting. What kind of ritual are they talking about?”

Serin hesitated before answering. “They mention that every twenty-five years, they perform a special ceremonial festival on that day, and it’s that time again.”

Kennard placed his pen carefully on the desk, watching as a drop of ink gathered at the tip and fell onto Simir’s letter, spreading across the parchment like an ominous stain. He stared at it for a moment, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk as his mind churned.

“They must find life here comfortable,” he remarked, the incredulity in his tone unmistakable.

The request for the ritual felt strange, especially given the unsolved mysteries lingering around the border—the strange symbols near the landslide site, the unexplained footprints that had appeared, and the recent sightings of magical activity that he couldn’t yet explain. All of it, coupled with their request to perform this ritual, seemed out of place. 

“There’s also… another request,” Serin’s voice broke through Kennard’s thoughts.

Kennard glanced up, curiosity piqued. “What else do they want?”

Serin hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the nature of the request. “They wish to invite Your Grace to attend the ceremony.”