Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 229: Chapter 229

Frustration clawed its way out of her, and Circe nearly screamed. She glared at him as she shoved at his chest in annoyance.

She wanted to rage at him, but when she opened her mouth, the sound that emerged was closer to a whine than a shout.

"You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?" she accused, narrowing her eyes at him.

He grinned, fangs flashing, wicked and sharp.

"Now, Princess," he drawled lazily, "why on earth would I do that?" He didn’t give her time to consider the question. A second later, his fingers resumed their teasing rhythm, faster this time, more intent. The suddenness of it tore a startled moan from her lips as her head tipped back.

It didn’t take long for the pattern to reveal itself. He would bring her right to the brink of release, only to withdraw his touch at the last possible moment, denying her that final, shattering release. Each pause left her more wound up, more desperate, her body aching with unfulfilled need.

By then, Circe knew, deep in her bones, that this was only the beginning. Whatever Ragnar had planned for her, he intended to make her feel every second of it.

Ragnar leaned forward before she could gather another sharp word to throw at him.

He captured her lips with his own, cutting off her protest entirely.

The kiss was not gentle. It was deep and claiming, filled with lust and fiery passion, his mouth slanting over hers as if he meant to steal the breath from her lungs.

Any lingering thought of berating him vanished the moment his tongue brushed against hers, coaxing her mouth open as he took more and more. His hand slid up her back, fingers spreading possessively between her shoulders as he held her there, kissing her until all she could feel was the press of his body and the taste of him.

Circe melted against him despite herself.

She hated how quickly her anger dissolved into need, how easily her body betrayed her even now, aching and sensitive from his earlier torment. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat as a soft sound escaped her, swallowed immediately by his mouth.

That was when the shout came.

"—Your Highness!"

The cry was sharp and panicked, carried from the front of the carriage, and it cut through the air around them like a blade.

Ragnar froze.

His sudden stillness was jarring after the heat that burned between them only moments ago. His mouth lingered a breath away from hers, his entire body going rigid as instinct screamed through him. A split second later, the carriage lurched violently, pitching forward with such force that made Circe gasp and clutch him tighter.

"What—?" she began, fear creeping into her voice.

The carriage surged again, wheels rattling wildly as it picked up far too much speed like the horses were no longer under control.

Where was the footman?

Another violent jolt threw Circe hard against him. Ragnar reacted instantly, his arms locking around her, turning his body so that he took the brunt of the impact. He braced his feet against the floor as best he could, holding her tight as the carriage thundered forward like a beast set loose.

Then came the sound of hooves, slowly closing in on them.

The air filled with the unmistakable roar of galloping horses closing in fast, too many of them. Ragnar barely had time to register the danger before something whistled through the air.

CRACK.

Glass exploded inward.

Circe screamed as shards rained across the carriage, and an arrow embedded itself in the wooden wall mere inches from Ragnar’s head, quivering violently.

Shock and fear flashed bright in her eyes.

Ragnar didn’t let himself look at it for more than a heartbeat.

"Get down," he ordered.

His voice was hard now, cold steel where warmth had been moments before. The playful, taunting man from moments ago was gone entirely, replaced by something far more dangerous. Circe didn’t argue. She slid down to the carriage floor at once, skirts gathered clumsily in her hands, breath coming fast and shallow.

Ragnar followed immediately, positioning himself beside her, then shifting until his body shielded hers completely. He curved over her protectively in case any other arrows were fired at their carriage. One of his arms was braced against the floor, while the other was wrapped around her shoulders, anchoring her against him as the carriage bucked and swayed. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

He felt her trembling.

The sensation sent a surge of fury through him so sharp it made his vision blur. His heart hammered violently as he pressed his forehead briefly to her hair, breathing her in before lifting his head again. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

The carriage finally screeched to a halt with a violent jolt.

Before they even came to a stop, Ragnar’s hand slid beneath the upholstered bench. His fingers closed around the familiar leather-wrapped hilt, and he drew the sword free in one smooth motion, sharp steel glinting faintly.

The horses outside sounded terrified. They whinnied in agitation.

He could hear riders drawing closer by the second, metal shifting, voices barking orders. They were surrounded. There was no mistaking it.

Circe knew it too.

When Ragnar shifted toward the door, she reached out and caught his wrist, her grip tight despite the tremor in her fingers. He looked down at her, and the fear in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees. She was not afraid for herself, but for him.

It was on the tip of his tongue to lie.

To tell her that he was untouchable, that nothing would truly harm him. But he would not insult her intelligence like that, or least of all, tempt fate.

"Stay here," he said instead, his voice low but steady. "And don’t move."

Her grip tightened for one heartbeat longer.

Ragnar pried her fingers from his wrist, squeezed her hand once in a silent promise and turned for the door. He stepped out of the carriage with his sword clenched tight, shadows already stirring violently beneath his skin.

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