Chapter 73

Not long after, Kennard emerged from the forest.

To Elena, it felt as though an eternity had passed, but in truth, only a few moments had slipped by.

The massive grizzly bear, now lifeless, hung limp from Kennard’s mouth. Its enormous body dragged along the ground, leaving deep furrows in the earth. Yet Kennard walked as though the weight was nothing, his steps light and effortless, as if the bear were no more than a scrap of cloth.

With a subtle movement, Kennard opened his jaws, revealing his sharp, gleaming fangs. The bear’s head dropped to the ground with a loud, sickening thud, the impact echoing through the clearing.

The knights, rushing forward to confirm the bear’s death, breathed out in relief, their tense postures loosening. The attendants, who had been frozen in fear, let out collective sighs of relief.

But Elena remained uneasy.

Kennard still hadn’t shifted back to his human form, and her heart ached as she wondered if he had sustained any injuries during the fight. His sleek black fur hid any marks or bruises, leaving her unsure and anxious.

Kennard shook himself, scattering droplets of moisture and loose fur in all directions. His gaze remained fixed on the bear’s lifeless body.

“Your Grace,” Elena called, her voice tinged with worry.

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Elena darted out from between Serin and Lassino, who had been blocking her path.

Kennard turned his head slowly at the sound of her voice, his golden eyes locking onto hers.

She rushed to his side, her breath uneven as she tried to steady herself.

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?” she asked, her voice trembling with concern.

A fleeting smile danced across his face, barely a curve of his lips, before it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Elena blinked, uncertain if she had truly seen it or if her imagination had played tricks on her. She scanned his form carefully, searching for any sign of injury, but there was nothing obvious.

Her hands hovered near his fur, aching with the need to reach out and check for wounds, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. The thought of brushing her fingers through his long, soft fur sent a wave of hesitation through her, as if crossing some invisible boundary.

“What do you think?” Kennard asked.

Elena let out a quiet sigh of relief, scanning him over one more time. “Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like you’re injured.”

Kennard tilted his head slightly, watching her with an unreadable expression as she relaxed. But then, without warning, he leaned forward, their faces almost touching. His eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction, and he clicked his tongue.

Elena’s pulse quickened, the unease returning. What’s wrong? She wondered, scanning him for any sign of injury she had missed.

“Your Grace, are you sure you’re not—?” she began, but he cut her off.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Elena blinked, her brow furrowing. “Pardon? Then what are you talking about?”

Kennard smirked as he returned to his human form, brushing back the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “I’m asking what you thought of me transforming into a wolf. You said you wanted to see it.”

Only then did realization hit Elena. Her pale face, still tinged with worry, flushed a soft pink.

“Well?” Kennard’s voice was teasing now, a challenge in his tone. “Your answer?”

Elena’s gaze dropped to the ground, avoiding his intense stare. “It was… impressive.”

“What was that?” Kennard leaned in closer, his voice dropping, as if needing to hear her response again.

Elena winced, knowing full well he had heard her the first time. His persistence was maddening, but she could feel her face heat up with embarrassment.

“I… I said it was impressive,” she forced out, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hunched her shoulders, wishing she could shrink into the ground. With all eyes on them—Serin, Lassino, and the rest of the attendants—it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. The heat in her cheeks intensified, and she fought the urge to break into a cold sweat.

Kennard seemed to savor her discomfort. His lips curled into a slow smile as he leaned closer, his voice low and almost possessive. “Now that you’ve seen me transform, there’s no need for you to look at anyone else.”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled deep in his chest, sending a shiver through Elena’s spine.

***

Serin nudged his horse’s side, urging it to quicken its pace slightly until he was riding alongside Kennard.

“I still don’t feel good about this,” Serin muttered, glancing back at the knights trailing behind them. The group of twenty or so knights, armed with swords and shields, followed in tight formation.

Kennard’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his grip on the reins loose and relaxed. “I don’t like it either,” he replied coolly. “Wasting precious time attending a pointless event like this is infuriating.”

The invitation had arrived ten days ago, and Kennard hadn’t been pleased. Since then, Elena had been busy with her various tasks—getting a dress tailored for the occasion, joining Kennard on a fishing trip by the river, overseeing the reconstruction of the destroyed greenhouse, and reviewing letters and documents. The latter was something Kennard had only done reluctantly, after much nagging from Serin.

In between, there were the quiet moments—those that Serin couldn’t help but observe—when Kennard would follow Elena’s pheromones, watching from a distance as she spent time with those around her.

Elena never seemed to have a moment to herself. She would receive flowers from the greenhouse attendants, using them to decorate various parts of the castle, or stand by the head chef’s side, asking endless questions as he prepared meals. She would even chat with the birds that perched on the windowsills or talk with Lassino as he polished the silverware.

Serin had often watched, bemused, as Elena handled plants with a carefree attitude, even the venomous Vanaichi, while he himself wore thick leather gloves to avoid being stung. He would try to teach her to distinguish between poisonous and medicinal herbs, but she only half-listened, leaving him red-faced with frustration every time.

Kennard, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but laugh.

The only place Elena seemed to stay still for any length of time was the library. Apparently, she shared his love for reading, spending her free time buried in books.

Yet, for all her wanderings, the place she lingered the longest was in his embrace. No one monopolized her as much as he did.

Each night, Kennard longed for her body, swallowing her soft moans as she trembled beneath him. Her warmth enveloped him, pulling him deeper, as if it were a living, breathing thing—alive and trembling in its own way.

The time spent with her was fleeting, passing in the blink of an eye. Though he never wanted to part from her, the more he desired her, the frailer her body seemed to become, forcing him to pull away with all the strength he could muster.

“Damn it,” Kennard muttered under his breath, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek as the image of Elena, undone in his arms, flashed through his mind.

“Why not send a letter now, saying there’s been a change of plans?” Serin’s voice cut through the silence, but it only fueled Kennard’s frustration.

No one wanted to turn back toward the castle more than he did. The thought of losing time with Elena enraged him, and the fact that it was because of the White Fox Tribe only made his anger burn hotter.

Even so, he knew there was no choice.

“As I told you before, this is necessary,” Kennard replied, his voice low and tense. “We need to protect Elena and ensure she can remain free here.”

Serin raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, Kennard continued, his gaze hardening. “If we attend, we can at least understand their hidden intentions for inviting me.”

Serin scoffed. “That’s exactly why I don’t want to go. Do you really think those crafty ones invited you with good intentions?”

Kennard’s jaw tightened, but he remained calm. “There must be a reason for their actions. If I want to know what it is, there’s no choice but to go.”

He glanced up at the sky, the vastness of it calming him momentarily. Between the tall trees, the night sky stretched above them, full of stars that refused to dim even with the massive full moon hanging so low it seemed as though it might fall to the ground.

As they neared the village where the White Fox Tribe resided, Serin raised his right hand. At the signal, the knights who had been trailing them split into two groups, disappearing into the darkness.

Kennard rode alongside Serin, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a calm intensity. Before long, they reached the entrance to the village, where Simir, the chieftain, and two other men came out to greet them.

“We are honored to meet Your Grace, the Duke,” Simir said, bowing with difficulty as he leaned on a staff carved from wood.

His long silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, almost reaching his knees.

When Kennard lifted his head a moment later, the moonlight illuminated Simir’s deeply wrinkled face, the skin beneath his eyes, cheeks, and chin sagging with age. His eyes, once a sharp black, now appeared hazy, like muddy water after a heavy rainstorm.

The two burly men standing behind him had silver hair that sparkled under the moon, their eyebrows and eyelashes tinged with the same hue. Their obsidian-like eyes stood out even more against their pale skin, adding to their eerie presence.

Simir’s voice broke the silence. “We are deeply honored that someone as noble as Your Grace would personally visit us.” He extended his thin, withered hands toward Kennard, his bony fingers trembling slightly.

“How dare you try to touch His Grace?” Serin’s voice was cold as he stepped forward, swatting Simir’s hands away with a sharp motion.

Simir rubbed the red mark left on his hand, but instead of showing any anger, he lowered it calmly, as if nothing had happened. “I must have gotten overly emotional, seeing as my time is near. To have the strongest pure-blood of the Black Wolf Tribe visit our humble Sabbath—how could I not be excited?”

A tremor passed through Simir’s frail body as he suddenly knelt, pressing both hands to the ground before lowering his forehead to the earth. His posture was almost that of a supplicant, offering his life to Kennard in a gesture of submission.

“Your Grace, please forgive my rudeness in my excitement,” Simir continued, his voice shaking. “May I invite you into our humble village?”

Kennard stood still, watching Simir with a cold, calculating gaze. The old fox’s flattery sickened him. He could see through the act—these were the types who spoke sweet words to your face, all the while hiding their ugly intentions behind your back, waiting to strike when you least expected it, their teeth bared.

The memories of the White Fox Tribe’s betrayal, of what they had done to him and Elena, boiled his blood with anger. His fists clenched, and for a moment, he longed to sink his fangs into Simir’s neck and end it all right then and there.

As Kennard’s deadly pheromones spread through the air, the men behind Simir tensed visibly. They instinctively stepped back, wariness flickering in their eyes.

Kennard narrowed his gaze, his stare chilling as he studied them, his eyes filled with an unsettling intensity beneath the weight of his lashes.