Page 45 of A Darkness So Sweet

It was longer than she was tall, with three doors in which to put wood and a massive pipe that went right into the wall and disappeared into the stone. He must have noticed her looking, because Ragnar cleared his throat.

“When you said the mountain looked like it was breathing sometimes? That’s usually when the trolls are cooking. A small amount of smoke most people wouldn’t notice, but sometimes we celebrate with food and that’s when there’s usually quite a lot of smoke coming out of the mountain.”

Her mouth dropped open, but then she grinned. “I knew it was breathing.”

“Exhaling,” he corrected. She caught the small smirk on his lips before he turned to draw her down the hallway again.

“Semantics.”

“Which are important when one is speaking of a magic mountain.” He stopped at the end of the hallway. There was a massive bear carved here as well. It stood on its back legs, glaring down at anyone who walked toward it. But beside Ragnar was a small fox carved into the wall with butterflies dancing around its whiskers. It stared up at the bear without fear. “This is your room,” he said.

He nudged the door open, and Maia felt all the breath leave her lungs.

The moment the door opened, yellow wisps burst to life. Not blue, like the others she’d seen so far, but yellow like the brightest beam of the sun. It was a sparse room, filled with very few belongings. Just a single plush bed with a yellow and green quilted blanket. A wardrobe in the corner was made out of sturdy oak, and would be more than enough room to put her things. If she had any.

But there were four windows carved here. Each of them ended in a delicate point, with carved squares down them to look like they were windows revealing a world beyond. The wisps that gathered there were so bright, it felt like she was outside.

Maia pressed her hands to her chest, wonder filling every ounce of her body. “Oh, Ragnar. It’s perfect.”

The floor wasn’t covered with woven rugs, but thicker sheepskins, so when she stepped barefoot on the soft skins, her toes immediately warmed. He pointed to a hearth in the corner. “Would you like a fire? I assume you’re rather cold.”

“I’m used to the cold. Ever since my father died, I’ve realized that I’m rather shit at starting fires.” She pressed her hands to her mouth. “I apologize. Swearing isn’t lady-like.”

He arched his brow. “You’re married to a troll, Maia. Swear all you fucking like.”

An unlady-like laugh escaped her mouth before she contained it. Well, she didn’t know what to do with that. She’d been a lady her entire life, because that was what everyone expected from her. To know he didn’t have the same rules?

She sank onto the edge of the bed and watched her husband crouch in front of the fireplace. She was suddenly very aware of her state of dress in this grand house. It was far easier to be fine with the wildness of her looks when they were in the middle of a forest. Maia could justify the tears in her clothing and the dried blood as simply something to expect from such a wild journey. But here, with a fine rug underneath her feet and a quilt beneath her bottom, she felt rather inadequate.

In comparison, somehow Ragnar still fit in. Though he was clothed in little more than leather pants, the blocky way his thighs bulged as he crouched or the sharp edges of his features made it appear as though this was where he belonged. The rough stone and the harsh shadows—all of it fit him.

She wasn’t all that certain where it left her.

She curled her fingers in her lap and waited until the fire was roaring. He stood, and she noticed he pressed a hand against his lower back as he did so. Was his back hurting? She knew he shouldn’t have carried her that long, the stubborn man.

But when he turned, she would never have known there was a single thing sore on his body. He looked strong and capable and so other that it was hard not to notice their differences.

He took a step toward her and her mind fractured with anxiety. What was he going to do next? She was on a bed. Was thistheirbed? Did he expect her to share it with him? He’d said this was her room, but they were married, after all.

“Your tattoos,” she blurted. “What do they mean?”

“Most are not tattoos.”

“Oh.” She frowned, even as he walked over to the other side of the bed. He stretched his arms over his head, and she lost all rational thought as those muscles stretched before her gaze.

“Trolls were born from mud and fur, remember? My mother was striped like a tiger. Gunnar didn’t get too many of that family trait, but I did.” He dropped his arms, his hands sliding down planes of muscle that were so tempting.

No. Not tempting. They were simplynottempting. Maia wasn’t thinking about how warm he looked and how desperately she wanted to slide her hands in the same path. She definitely didn’t want to know what those abs would feel like flexing against her palms, or if he would clench like he had the last time she’d touched his stomach while moving her hand toward?—

He suddenly moved again. She was frozen as he placed a knee on the bed and then prowled toward her. All the muscles in his shoulders bunched and rippled with the movement until he was kneeling right in front of her on the mattress. He stared down at her, all raw masculine energy and male pride.

She could do nothing other than stare up at him with wide eyes as he reached into the pocket hanging from his loincloth.

“Come here, wife.” And those words said in that dark, rumbling tone made every part of her body stand to attention.

What was it about his voice that made her want to do anything he said? She turned on the bed, rotating until she was on her knees before him as well. It was strange to kneel on a bed like this, at least until he reached forward with those massive, clawed hands and started removing the piercings from her ears.

“Wait,” she said, though holding herself as still as possible in case he ripped her ear. “Aren’t those supposed to stay in?”

---