Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 52: Chapter 52

The dim room was only illuminated by a single flickering candle flame. Her eyes widened when the shadowy figure moved. She watched it unfurl from its crouch on the floor, growing until it stood tall. It was positioned in her direct line of sight, lingering in a portion of the room where the light barely reached.

A scream got stuck in the back of her throat.

The figure began to move, one slow, deliberate step at a time. Each footfall was heavy with intent, the silence between each one stretched and sharpened the dread in her chest. Circe’s heart pounded against her chest as her hand slid beneath the covers. She shifted her body subtly, angling herself just enough to grip the hilt of the dagger strapped to her thigh.

Her fingers curled around the cool, rigid metal. She didn’t draw it, not yet at least. Instead, she waited, her breath growing shallower, her heart drumming a warning in her ears. She was gambling by staying put. Letting it come closer. But she needed it near enough to strike, to ensure her aim would not miss.

The shadows gradually melted off the closer it came. A masculine frame emerged from the darkness, exposing broad shoulders, long dark hair, and a powerful build. And then, as he came close enough, the candlelight fell across his face, illuminating the scar running down the left side of it.

Her eyes widened in recognition. It widened even further when Ragnar started reaching out for her.

Acting on instinct, Circe moved in a swift blur. She tore the dagger from its sheath and swung it in a wide, merciless arc, aiming for his flesh. But he was faster. Ragnar stepped back just in time, the blade slicing through empty air. Before she could recover for another strike, his hand shot forward, seizing her wrist with a crushing grip. With practiced ease, he pried the weapon from her fingers and let it fall harmlessly to the floor with a dull clatter.

The moment the shock wore off, her mouth fell open in outrage. Her eyes flared, blazing with fury hotter than the flames of Marzen.

But before she could make a sound, Ragnar slapped a hand over her mouth, his expression sharp with warning.

"Don’t," he said in a low voice. "Let’s not wake your brother, shall we?"

His face dipped closer, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. "Now why," he whispered, "would you make me chase you all the way down here, when you know exactly where you ought to be?"

She stared at him, stunned by the absurdity of his words. He was insane. Entirely unhinged. What sort of man followed a woman across the manor like a ghost in the night, then had the audacity to speak like she was the one being unreasonable? Did he even hear himself? Circe’s blood boiled.

How had she ended up with someone so insufferable? So completely deranged?

Her rage built like a storm inside her, quick and violent. Rage was familiar. Rage was always safe. She leaned into it now, using it to drown out the fear and the confusion. Her hands flew up to claw at his, trying to pry his palm from her face. But he didn’t budge. Ragnar’s hand was large, easily spanning the entire width of her face and rough with callouses. She could feel the coarseness of his fingers against her skin as he held her still, determined to keep her silent.

She wanted to spit in his face and claw his eyes out in a single breath. When she was done with him, she would make sure he had a scar on the right side of his face to match the one on his left.

But then an idea came to her unbidden as her gaze turned even more menacing.

Her lips parted behind his hand and she sank her teeth hard into his flesh.

Ragnar’s eyes widened in shock, a flicker of disbelief passing through them. He hadn’t expected that.

He hadn’t thought she, a princess, would bite like some wild creature. Circe knew he hadn’t anticipated this from her when he agreed to marry her. He probably thought she would be docile, and pliant. That she would quietly endure whatever cruelties he and the rest of the court handed down without protest, wearing her compliance like armor. Their little complicit victim.

Well, he was wrong.

And he was going to learn that soon enough.

She sank her teeth in deeper, tasting the salt of his skin. His jaw clenched, but he still didn’t flinch. He didn’t yank his hand away. He didn’t strike her. Instead, his eyes narrowed, something dark flickering behind them, something that looked a lot like amusement.

She hated him for it and she showed her displeasure by scowling at him.

"You won’t be sleeping here," he said, his voice low and firm.

Circe’s scowl deepened, sharpening until it could have flayed a man open.

"Promise not to make a sound," he murmured, "and I’ll remove my hand."

She didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. Her silence was its own form of resistance. Her eyes burned with fury, but she obeyed. Only when he began to move his hand away from her face did she finally unclamp her jaw and let her teeth release his skin.

But she didn’t scream. She didn’t yell at him or call for help. Doing so would only wake Rowen and she couldn’t bear for him to see her like this. Trapped, powerless and at Ragnar’s mercy.

Besides, Ragnar was a prince. This was his manor, his home. Even if she did scream, who would come? Who would risk defying him to save her? No one. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Without another word, he yanked the covers off her and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her out of the bed.

But Circe acted fast. The moment her feet touched the cold floor, her eyes flicked toward the glint of her fallen dagger. In a fluid, instinctive movement, she kicked it beneath the bed, hiding it from view before he saw it and decided to take it away from her.

Her breath trembled as she exhaled. He hadn’t seen it. A small victory, but one she clung to.

Her heart thudded against her ribs like a war drum, but her expression betrayed nothing. She kept her chin lifted, eyes burning with quiet fire, determined not to let him see the fear crawling up her spine.

Let him think she was calm. Let him think she had nothing. freewēbnoveℓ.com

The dagger was still close. And so was her chance.