Records Ragnarok Novels & Stories

This was where I met him—Ragnar, the rogue I’d fed coins and secrets to for years, my shadow, my blade in the dark. I pushed through the creaking door, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, my heart racing as Ragnar stepped forward, his hulking frame scarred, his yellow eyes gleaming with hunger. Not Darius, the warrior I’d pitched to Marcus, but Ragnar, a rogue so vile even the BloodMoon pack shunned him. He was my secret weapon, loyal only to my gold, my promises. “Veron,” he growled, his voice rough, his claws flexing. “What’s the job?”

She was just a child and she was doing so much for us. I looked at Lorena and she was fighting with so much furry in her heart. I had never seen her so angry and I looked at her in awe. She was truly deserving to be the mate of the Beta. “You coward! Fight me! Be a hero and die by hand!” Ragnar had managed to get to his feet but his body was terribly wounded. Blood was gushing out from his wounds and soaking his fur. “You know that your end is near. Call off your armies and send this monster back and we might consider sparing you.”

—I asked, noticing he was just staring at me. —Now you understand why they couldn't grow up away from you. —Because you're a total disaster, with a passing interest, who couldn't live without me? —He laughed. —You couldn't have put it better. —This time I shrugged. —Do they have names? —I have two in mind —I gestured for him to continue—. Ragnar for the male... means lethal strength and primitive loyalty. You agree? —Very masculine, though quite fitting for their father's character —he just smiled. —And the other?

“Look out for one another out there. Every single one of you.” The words landed somewhere complicated in my chest. Look out for one another. If he knew how close we’d come to fracturing entirely and how many evenings had been spent on opposite sides of the same ice I wondered what his face would have looked like. I nodded with everyone else and said nothing. When it was our turn to enter, the announcer’s voice filled the arena. “The Falcons are a team with an extraordinary winning record. And leading them out Captain Noah. The Falcons are strong favourites to advance to the semi-finals.”

Laughing as hard as he can. ‘Oh shut it. You aren’t much of a smooth talker. “Hi I’m Ragnar, Let me smell your butt and get belly rubs and back scratches from you and live happily ever after.” ‘ I scoffed and chuckled as I made my way to the door of Monica’s new cottage. Ragnar snarled a bit. ‘ Atleast, it would be better than the speech you were going to give. And another thing, have you ever had your belly rubbed or your back scratched. It’s heaven.’ He sneered.

He asked with all seriousness while staring back at me with an arched brow. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why is it always your first instinct to light someone's hair on fire?” I hit him on his shoulder and he pushed my hands away. “Why isn't it yours?” His tone was challenging as hell but I chose to ignore it. “I'm talking about the lady from the other night. Elara… remember?” I tried explaining but Ragnar had the most confusing look ever. “Remember what exactly? You didn't tell me anything about any ‘lady from the other night.’ He used his index and middle finger of both hands for demonstration.

Laryn stood up and wiped the blood from his face. "He's scrappy," he said to the other two dragons. I was slower to get up this time, but finally managed to gain my feet. "You next," I nodded to Sarn. "Hell no," he said. "I don't look good in red; that's Bastian's color." He gave me an ear to ear grin and stepped forward with his hand out. "I'm Sarn. What's your name?" I looked from his hand to the grin on his face. I took his offered hand and we shook. "I'm Tahr, of the royal silver dynasty."

“I have no idea how your mum drinks that shit.” “Neither do I. But apparently it contains a train of important nutrients ranging from iron, magnesium and vi…” he trailed off when he realized I was glaring at him and the smile on his face grew wider. “I’ll just get your favourite,” he added and quickly headed out of the living room while I furrowed my brows at his last statement.

And he was bare—nothing on, his cock swinging thick and heavy between his legs, even soft it looked massive, veins running along it. Who could this be? Don't tell me.... The name hit her mind like a slap: Ragnar. Centuries old, a werewolf spirit trapped by witch hunters back in the 1700s. He'd been raging in that void, chained to the pages. Now free, he stretched his arms, his claws glinting. He sniffed the air. His nose twitched. "Vampire," he growled with a voice as rough as gravel. "You reek of fear and something sweet, untouched. You the one who pulled me out?"

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.