Biblioteca
Buscar
Início / Romance / The Sentinel's Vow / Chapter Thirteen

Compartilhar

Chapter Thirteen

Autor: Dee
last update Data de publicação: 2026-09-09 04:42:00
Anna

The air in the bedroom was warm, thick with the scent of spent sweat, cedar, and raw, undeniable possession.

I lay tucked against Klaus’s massive frame, my head resting on his chest, listening to the heavy, steady thud of his heart beneath my ear. One of his broad, scarred arms was wrapped tight around my waist, his long fingers resting possessively against the curve of my hip, anchoring me to him as if he expected the dark to swallow me whole the moment he let go.

For the first time
Continue a ler este livro gratuitamente
Escaneie o código para baixar o App
Capítulo anterior Próximo capítulo
Capítulo bloqueado

Último capítulo

  • The Sentinel's Vow   Chapter Sixty-One

    AnnaBy late May, the Laurentian wilderness had exploded into its vibrant, short-lived northern summer.The heavy runoff from the snowpack had finally subsided, leaving the lake crystal clear, still, and dark as obsidian beneath a cloudless sky of pale, polished turquoise. The mountain air was soft, warm—around twenty-one degrees Celsius—and saturated with the rich, intoxicating scent of sun-warmed cedar bark, blooming wild lilies, and damp granite.Down at the south terrace garden, six-and-a-half-year-old Leo was fully engaged in his mid-morning structural check of the raised timber beds.He wore a dark navy thermal top, light canvas trousers tucked into his small work boots, and a sun cap pulled low over his forehead. In his hands, he held a small wooden spirit level, resting it carefully along the upper cedar rail of the tomato enclosure."Framework alignment is dead true, Mama," Leo reported solemnly, his hazel eyes fixing on the tiny green bubble suspended perfectly between the b

  • The Sentinel's Vow   Chapter Sixty

    AnnaBy late April, the great Laurentian thaw had reached its roaring, uncontrollable climax.For miles in every direction, the mountain wilderness was alive with the sound of rushing, turbulent water. Millions of tons of melting ice and winter snowpack cascades off the granite crags, swelling the mountain streams into white-water torrents that carved temporary channels through the pine floor. Down below the terrace, the lake had completely shed its icy armor, its high, dark waters churning with silt, sunken logs, and the cold, violent energy of spring.The air outside was eleven degrees Celsius—crisp, damp, and thick with the heavy smells of wet loam, decaying pine needles, crushed moss, and raw mountain earth.Down at the lower boathouse, four feet above the rising waterline, six-and-a-half-year-old Leo stood on the wet timber dock wearing his dark green oilskin slicker, rubber knee boots, and canvas work pants.In his hands, he held a weighted brass sounding line, lowering the lead

  • The Sentinel's Vow   Chapter Fifty-Nine

    AnnaBy mid-March, the Laurentian winter had begun its slow, majestic transition into the early thaw.The air outside carried a new, subtle weight—a faint, crisp moisture that hinted at subterranean movement beneath the snowpack. While the thermometer still hovered at minus eight degrees Celsius, the sun rose higher each afternoon, its bright rays softening the heavy crust on the south-facing roofs of La Clairière and turning the icicles hanging from the cedar eaves into steady, dripping prisms of liquid light.In the secondary workshop, the large double doors were thrown open just a crack, letting in a narrow band of sharp mountain light and the clean smell of melting ice mixed with pine bark.Leo sat cross-legged on a low canvas mat near the tool bench, a set of small steel rasps and sandpapers arranged neatly before him. In his lap sat the frame of a birdhouse he was building out of dry pine offcuts. His hands, small but increasingly confident, worked the coarse paper along the edg

  • The Sentinel's Vow   Chapter Fifty-Eight

    AnnaBy late February, the Laurentian wilderness seemed suspended in an eternal, blue-shadowed standstill.Outside the high glass walls of La Clairière, the temperature hung unyieldingly at minus twenty-four degrees Celsius. The wind had dropped completely, leaving the vast forest wrapped in an eerie, absolute silence. Five feet of pristine, wind-scoured snow smothered the valley floor, pressing heavy against the granite foundations and turning the black spruce along the shoreline into frozen, white-robed sentinels.Inside the estate’s secondary workshop, the atmosphere was thick with the rich, resinous scent of freshly planed cedar, linseed oil, and wood shavings.Six-and-a-half-year-old Leo sat on a high oak bench near the sunlit south window, a pair of small leather work gloves on his hands and a brass-plated hand plane in his grip. With steady, painstaking care, he was shaving down the edge of a replacement timber spar for our secondary lake dock.Thin, translucent curls of fragra

  • The Sentinel's Vow   Chapter Fifty-Seven

    AnnaBy late January, the Laurentian winter had settled into its most severe and uncompromising rhythm.The air outside La Clairière was so cold that breath froze instantly into fine, glittering ice crystals that hovered in the still air before drifting down onto the blue-white crust. The temperature had hovered near minus twenty-eight degrees Celsius for six straight days, locking the four thousand acres of private forest in a silent, crystalline vise.The ancient balsam firs and white pines along the ridge stood perfectly motionless, their thick boughs weighed down under five feet of packed, wind-scoured snow that sparkled under the harsh, unblinking glare of a pale midwinter sun.Inside the glass-walled kitchen, however, the atmosphere was defined by a deep, radiant warmth.The central wood-burning stove hummed with a low, steady draft as three thick logs of cured sugar maple burned down to white-hot coals. The air was rich with the deep scents of simmering beef bone broth, crushed

  • The Sentinel's Vow   Chapter Fifty-Six

    AnnaBy late December, the Laurentian wilderness had surrendered completely to the deep freeze.A thick, unbroken blanket of blue-white powder, nearly four feet deep, smothered the valley floor, smoothing out the rough granite outcrops and draping the high branches of the balsam firs in heavy, glittering mantles. The lake had locked solid weeks ago, transformed into a vast, silent plain of wind-scoured ice that reflected the pale, metallic glare of the low winter sun.Inside the kitchen of La Clairière, the air was thick with the rich, savory aroma of braised venison, cracked black pepper, and fresh sourdough.The heavy wood-burning iron stove radiated a steady, intense heat that kept the triple-paned glass windows entirely free of frost, save for the bottom corners where delicate, icy ferns had crystallized against the frame.I stood at the long oak island, wearing a thick forest-green wool sweater with pushed-up sleeves, carefully slicing thin ribbons of preserved red cabbage into a

Mais capítulos

Você também pode gostar

Explore e leia bons romances gratuitamente
Acesso gratuito a um vasto número de bons romances no app GoodNovel. Baixe os livros que você gosta e leia em qualquer lugar e a qualquer hora.
Leia livros gratuitamente no app
ESCANEIE O CÓDIGO PARA LER NO APP
DMCA.com Protection Status