The Lycan King and his Dark Temptation (Valeria) novel Chapter 371

NARRATOR

Katherine anxiously watched the landscape rush past.

She hadn’t slept after Elliot left. Instead, she spent that time replaying their last encounter in her mind.

The Duke had seen right through her. She should have expected it—she would starve if she had to rely on acting to survive.

She was too temperamental and let her emotions take over too easily.

Her greatest advantage was that people barely paid attention to Rossella. She was always secluded in the castle, and the Duke never introduced her to high society.

Yet Elliot had unmasked her. Then again, he was just as strange as she was.

"A werewolf…" she murmured, bringing a hand to her mouth, frowning.

The evidence was there—those wild growls, the way his pupils shifted so many times, the vague memories of when she was stabbed, including the taste of his powerful blood.

Was that why she healed so quickly?

And then there was his beastly, sexy way of making love to her—and that thing that got stuck inside her after he came. What the hell was that?

Kath had no idea. Elliot and she would have to talk later, that was for sure.

Something about that man called to her soul—maybe because they were both extraordinary beings.

“Elliot, don’t you dare die and leave me as a bitter widow. Not now, when I’ve barely had a taste of your delicious chorizo… Oh, for heaven’s sake, what nonsense are you saying, Katherine?!” she muttered to herself, flustered.

She was nervous, and that always brought out her inner lunatic.

Elliot, but seriously now, my Duke, come back to me safely, please.

She sent her silent prayers to the heavens, gazing through the curtains, fear gripping her heart—never imagining that she would be the one risking her life soon.

*****

IN THE FOREST, NEAR ALDO AND TOMAS’ HIDEOUT…

"Leonidas, come, come look at this," one of the warriors called another over.

They had been searching for hours; it was already morning. Exhausted and filled with resentment for following stupid orders.

It was obvious those spies had fled long ago.

"What is it?" Leonidas asked, lifting the evidence from the tall grass with the branch of a tree.

"They look like scraps of clothing," the man studied the torn fabric, frowning as wild thoughts ran through his mind.

"What would men’s clothes be doing here? And they belong to two different people," they examined them more closely.

"Look, I’m almost sure this shirt belonged to that guy, Aldo—I noticed it because I liked the cut," they both fell silent.

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