Bjorn Ragnar Novels & Stories

I murmured as I felt him slowly back me against the back of the huge wooden cupboard. His lips found mine again, his tongue seeking mine as I wrapped my body to his. My arms gripped him as tightly as I could, even my thighs squeezed his waist hoping to make this moment last as long as possible. I let out another little whimper of pleasure as he pulled away, his grizzled face flush, dark eyes whirling with a hint of his wolf. “My full name is Declan Ragnar. My father was Alpha Ragnar, the leader overthrown by Valdis to take this place.”

Something that said he had been waiting for this moment. "Catch up?" I forced a smirk. "I wasn't aware we had anything to catch up on, Norales. Did something important happen in your life that I should know about? Did you win a ribbon at the county fair or perhaps learn to use silverware?" “Funny.” Ragnar scoffed. “I could say the same about you. Though I suppose when your greatest achievement is being born with the right last name, there's not much to update anyone on.” "Gentlemen."

Only Romeo sat in his chair, elbows on the table, eyes fixed ahead. “Are the counselors back from Kiev?” I asked, but he did not move, just kept staring forward. “What, are we married now? You giving me the silent treatment?” Still nothing. Then, quietly: “How long has Ragnar been back, Alpha?” I exhaled through my nose. “A few days.” I could almost hear the crackle of thoughts firing in his head, feel the heat rising off him as the truth pieced itself together. Finally, he spoke. “Ragnar and Sorvane chose the same human.”

He knelt and lowered the tray. Food. Tea. Medicine. I looked at him. He avoided my eyes. Interesting. Not fear. Caution. Respect. I studied him. Lior’s memories were weak where he was concerned. Only fragments. A servant sent from the Iron Fang Empire. Ragnar’s man. Watching. Waiting. I spoke coldly. “You work for Ragnar.” Soren lifted his head slowly. “Yes, Your Highness.” His voice was calm. Too calm. I narrowed my eyes.

I held my breath and raised my chin, refusing to show fear even as the suffocating pressure of a god-Alpha filled the clearing, making it hard to breathe. A sharp crack of bones split the silence. I staggered back as the beast shifted, its body unraveling into human form with terrifying grace. He was dangerously handsome, possessing sharp, aristocratic features, midnight-dark hair, and a commanding presence that screamed absolute royalty. A heavy, fur-lined black coat was draped over his tailored black suit, and silver rings glistened under the moonlight. Ragnar Storm. The Alpha King of the elite Northern Pack—and Dave’s deadliest, most feared corporate and political rival.

“Why did you mark her?” Ragnar asked immediately Derek entered the room. He was the Alpha of the Scorpion Zeal pack and also a Father to Derek. Ragnar was a tall, imposing figure, with broad shoulders and a thick beard. He was dressed in a fine silk robe, with gold embroidery and jewels adorning his cuffs and collar.

Nine was their sacred number since it connected the nine realms that existed within Yggdrasil. “I choose Gungnir, the great spear of Odin, Angurvadal, the stream of anguish, Gram, who brought death to Fafnir, Freyr’s sword, to fight when I am weak, Dáinsleif, to inflict wounds that never heal, Lævateinn, so that my step will never falter, Skofnung, the supernatural blade, Hǫfuð, the great sword of Heimdall and lastly Mjolnir.” Malachi chose his nine gifts and the rest were returned to the vault. These gifts would be sent to his house in Seward and he knew Jessica would banish them to his study.

I added firmly, my voice edged with disbelief. “I know,” he replied. “But if you ask me, that’s just how Ragnar is. He’s been like that since the beginning. He's impossible to understand.” He paused for a moment, his green eyes studying me carefully before he continued, “But even I didn’t expect that he’d want to claim you as well. Especially when there’s already another human sacrifice who’s practically meant for him.” I didn’t answer Bruno right away. My mind was a mess, thoughts running wild in every direction.

Ylva walked in last, holding a glass of juice, and sat on the arm of the sofa. Ragnar looked at all of them before speaking. “An old friend of mine is coming to town from Korea,” he said. “He’ll be staying here for a while.” Mar raised an eyebrow. “You have friends?” Porto immediately elbowed him. “You want to die?” Ragnar ignored them. “His name is Ping Lee. We’ve known each other for many years. We’ve worked together before. He’s someone I trust.” That immediately made everyone take it seriously. Ragnar didn’t trust people easily.

She pressed her palm to his chest and opened the configuration and read what was there. What she found was not a surprise and was also not what she expected, the two things coexisting in the specific way that truth always did when you had been carrying incomplete information about someone. Ragnar's fundamental frequency was not cold. It ran warm at the root level, the specific warmth of something that had been contained for so long it had been mistaken for its container. He had not been cold. He had learned to perform cold because warm had cost him things he could not afford to lose when he was young.