Free Web NovelChapter 424: Chapter 424
The sparring matches between Rowen and Kostia lasted for hours, and by the time they finally called it quits, the sun had already begun its slow descent over the horizon, spilling streaks of amber and gold across the sky.
Rowen was still trying to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling with each labored inhale, but there was a wide, unrestrained smile stretched across his face as listened and nodded intently as Kostia spoke to him, most likely giving him tips on how to improve his performance for their next sparring match. Once Kostia was done with him, Rowen didn’t wait even a second. He dashed into the manor, eager to wash up for dinner and change into something cleaner and suitable to be worn to the dining hall. Circe watched him go, a small, fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she shook her head lightly. ƒгeewebnovёl.com
She ate dinner with him and retired back to her chambers to rest. But when she woke, Ragnar’s side of the bed was still empty and it was almost midnight. The manor had quieted and the halls were nearly deserted as Circe crept into the library on near-silent feet in search of Ragnar. He hadn’t been in their bedchambers, nor in his study when she checked, which left the library as the most likely place to find him.
Though the library was vast, lined with towering shelves and shadowed alcoves, it didn’t take Circe long to locate him. Just like her, Ragnar had claimed a particular spot as his own, a small, hidden reading nook tucked away from view, concealed from the main doors and bathed in the glow of several lit lanterns.
Ragnar sat comfortably on a cushioned armchair, an old leather-bound book open across his lap. The spine was cracked, and its pages were fragile, yellowed with age. He peered up from the page he had been reading the moment she came to a stop in front of him, his attention shifting wholly to her.
"I knew I would find you here," she muttered, her voice soft, almost teasing.
She was met with one of his charming smiles, one that never failed to leave her feeling weak in the knees.
Instead of responding, Ragnar let his gaze trail slowly down her body in a slow perusal, as though savoring the sight of her. The intensity of it felt almost scorching, like heat brushing against her skin. She was dressed in one of the more revealing nightgowns she had chosen from the seamstress’s catalog during their trip. It was made of thin, almost sheer fabric that clung to her figure with every subtle movement, the plunging neckline far more daring than anything she would have once considered wearing.
A robe was draped loosely over her shoulders, its flaps held tightly shut as she had made her way through the manor, wary of running into anyone other than Ragnar. Though it was late, a few members of the staff still lingered in the several places around the manor.
But the moment she stood before him, she released her grip on the robe, allowing it to fall open just enough to reveal the nightgown beneath.
Ragnar didn’t look away. His gaze darkened, drinking her in as though he could strip away every last piece of fabric with nothing but the intensity of his stare.
Being looked at like that, and being wanted like that was intoxicating. It stirred something deep within her, warmth pooling low in her belly, spreading slowly through her veins. He looked at her the way a starving man might look upon a lavish banquet, like he wanted to devour her whole and she wanted to let him do just that.
Circe shifted slightly, her attention dropping to the book still open on his lap. Curiosity flickered across her features, breaking through the haze of lust that momentarily clouded her thoughts. She gestured toward the open book, pulling his focus away from her, if only for a moment.
"What are you reading?" She stepped closer, leaning in to get a better look. With her came that familiar, intoxicating scent that Ragnar found utterly impossible to ignore. She peered at the open pages, her brows knitting together faintly when she realized the text was written in a language she didn’t understand.
"It’s a book on fae," he said, noting the confusion on her face. He already knew she couldn’t yet read the language of his people. She had been adamant about learning it lately, stubbornly determined. Though she had managed to teach herself a handful of words, she still had a long way to go before she could form complete sentences.
Since returning back to Amris, Ragnar had immersed himself in the knowledge contained within his library, eager to learn anything he could about the fae.
There was now a fae under his roof, and he intended to be as prepared as possible to handle this situation, and for whatever consequences might follow should anyone outside his household discover the truth.
Harboring a fae wasn’t strictly against the law, but it would undoubtedly draw attention, dangerous attention. Vampires were not fond of the fae. The bitterness between them ran deep. After all, it had been the high fae—their arrogance, their prejudice, their disdain for those they deemed lesser—that had driven vampires to abandon their old world in search of a new one within the human realm.
Understanding dawned slowly across her features, and with it came a softness that made her chest ache. He was doing all of this for her, to help her with her mother. To once again shoulder her burdens like they were his.
Her heart tightened in her chest, threatening to melt into a puddle at his feet. Every day, she woke up believing it was impossible to love him more than she already did and yet, time and time again, he proved her wrong with caring and thoughtful acts like this.
"I came to keep you company," she said. "But if you’re busy, I can wait for you in our room."
She had already begun to turn, intending to leave him to his reading. But before she could take even a single step, his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her backward. A small gasp escaped her lips as he pulled her down on his lap.
"I’d prefer it if you stayed right here," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement and desire. "On my lap."
"Wouldn’t my presence here be a distraction?" she asked. It was a weak protest more than anything, as she had no intention of getting off his lap anytime soon.
He set the book he had been reading down gently on the floor, his attention already shifting entirely to her. Then he leaned in, bringing his face closer until the tip of his nose brushed softly against hers.
"I love being distracted by you," he murmured, his voice low and gruff. "And you do it so well, my delightfully distracting wife."
His fingertip traced along the exposed skin at the dip of her neckline, sending a faint shiver through her. One hand wandered while the other remained firm on her waist, holding her in place. He looked utterly captivated by the simple act, and a pleased smirk curved his lips when he felt her tremble beneath his barely-there touch.
Ragnar had never been able to keep his hands to himself whenever she was this close. There was always that need to touch her and she welcomed it just as eagerly, leaning into every point of contact.
But every time he wanted more, he wanted to run his hands over her, to map every soft curve until there was nothing left to discover. The desire clouded his thoughts, made it difficult to focus on anything else. Her scent, sweet and utterly intoxicating, filled his lungs with every breath, drawing him in deeper. But there was also something different about it as well but he couldn’t tell what. Whether it was the pull between them, urging him to fix the bond between them or something far more primal, he couldn’t tell but he knew he was helpless against it.
Unable to resist any longer, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses against her skin. Each touch of his lips sent warmth curling through her, pooling low and deep, awakening an insistent ache within her core.
He trailed a path along her collarbone, moving lower. At times, his teeth grazed her skin in gentle nips, only for his tongue to follow and soothe the fleeting sting. The thin fabric of her nightgown did little to conceal her figure, clinging to her form and revealing the faint outline of her hardened nipples beneath. His gaze lingered there for a moment before he dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss against the covered curve of one breast, then the other, savoring the reactions he drew from her.
A soft moan slipped past her lips as she shifted on his lap, unable to stay still. She sought friction without thinking, chasing relief from the growing ache that only deepened under Ragnar’s careful, relentless attention.
