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.
