The Lycan King and his Dark Temptation novel Chapter 325

KATHERINE

A small garden greeted me at the entrance, though the plants were sparse.

I lifted my head and took in the pitch-black darkness.

Only a few faint lights flickered from a nearby house. The distant hills were covered in trees, rustic wooden fences lined the dirt road that wove through the homes—life in the countryside.

In the midst of that darkness, a silhouette suddenly emerged.

The rickety front gate creaked open, and the figure walked up the stone path. It was Elliot.

"Rossella, why did you come outside? It’s cold," he said, approaching immediately.

"I was waiting for you. Are you okay?" I asked, taking a few steps toward him.

His expression remained serious and uneasy.

"I went to see the village. It’s… indescribable," he said through gritted teeth, his face dark with fury.

"This is the borderlands, and it’s obvious someone else is controlling them. I feel like an idiot."

Well, that’s not something I’m going to argue with, little Duke, I thought, wisely keeping silent.

"You’ll fix it. We all make mistakes sometimes," I murmured, slowly raising my hand and carefully brushing my fingers over the hard line of his jaw.

I gazed at him with wide, adoring eyes—the way Rossella would. He lowered his head and met my stare.

At least he didn’t push me away.

"The water is ready. Oh dear… I hope I’m not interrupting…" Mrs. Nora’s singsong voice rang from behind me.

I immediately pulled back, and the Duke took a step away.

"You’re not interrupting anything. You said… the water?" he asked, and with that, preparations for the bath began.

The bathhouse was a small wooden structure, set apart from the main house, further back in the yard.

Inside was a rustic but sturdy round wooden tub.

I took the items Mrs. Nora had kindly handed me—the herbs for the bath and fresh bandages—and stepped aside, watching the Duke carry buckets to fill it.

The shirt he wore belonged to Aldo, fitting more loosely, but with every movement, glimpses of his strong, sweat-slicked muscles flashed through.

I devoured him with my eyes—why deny it?

It wouldn’t take much effort to consummate my marriage when my husband looked this damn tempting.

The bulge in his trousers told me I’d enjoy it far too much.

"Alright, it’s ready. You can take your time," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

We were alone in the yard, accompanied only by the sounds of nocturnal creatures, the forest looming beyond the tall wooden fence.

The homeowners had already gone to bed.

"Wait," I grabbed his arm just as he was about to walk away. "Elliot, you can bathe with me. We shouldn’t waste the water. It’s not unusual for a married couple."

I moved closer, pressing a breast against his arm, watching him intensely, fluttering my lashes. I have to admit—seduction wasn’t exactly my forte.

"I can use the water after you. Be careful not to wet your wound. I didn’t fill the tub all the way," he said, slipping from my grasp and simply returning the bucket.

I stomped my foot in frustration. I stepped inside the small, steam-filled room, mist curling through the air.

The tub was warm, perfectly sized for the two of us to fit together, nice and snug.

Everything was perfect—I could have taken him, or at least melted that cold heart of his a little!

But he refused. I tossed my clothes onto a few hooks hammered into the wooden wall.

"Elliot, I’m sorry… I really think you’ll have to help me. It’s hard with my wound," she murmured sweetly—blatantly lying.

I knew her wound was nearly healed.

She turned in my arms and—fuck! She held the bandages against her chest with one hand, leaving her two gorgeous, full breasts completely exposed.

"Will you help me?" she asked, leaning into me, her stiffened nipples grazing my chest through my shirt.

Our eyes met—hers dark, burning with desire.

My cock, hard as stone, strained to be freed, aching to thrust deep into my wife.

It didn’t matter what suspicions or resentments I harbored—before everyone, she was my wife.

"My female."

The words echoed in my mind, the ones I had heard in my moment of desperation. I didn’t know what they truly meant.

I had never fully understood the world of werewolves, never learned how to unleash whatever beast supposedly lived inside me.

My father—who had hidden his supernatural nature—had died alongside my mother in an accident, never explaining anything, leaving me to figure it all out alone.

I had always suppressed it, cautious, afraid of exposing myself.

But now, there was no doubt. "He" wanted her. And so did I.

"I… I’ll help you, then," I finally answered, my throat dry, letting go of all restraint, pushing aside every fear.

I just wanted to forget—if only for a few minutes. Make me forget, Rossella.

"Then… should I help undress you?" she asked, her fingers moving to the buttons of my shirt.

"Yes… undress me, wife. Let’s take this bath together."