A Cage of Kingdoms (Deliciously Dark Fairytales #6) Read Online K.F. Breene

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dragons, Erotic, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal Tags Authors: Series: Deliciously Dark Fairytales Series by K.F. Breene
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Total pages in book: 182
Estimated words: 171176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 856(@200wpm)___ 685(@250wpm)___ 571(@300wpm)
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A little smile curved his full lips. His nod was slight yet confident. He clearly knew what I felt. He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

He kissed me again. All-consuming, pulling at my soul until he could entwine it with his own. My world unraveled until this moment consisted of only him and me, our bodies, our hearts.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, knowing he would understand what I meant.

“I know. Don’t rush it. Let it come naturally.” He nipped at my lips. “Just feel it.”

And I did. With him guiding me as his wolf guided mine, I gave myself over to the emotions coursing through the bond. Through my soul. I allowed them to sweep me away, trusting he would keep me tethered.

His movements became faster, his kiss deeper. His arms wrapped tightly around me like he wouldn’t ever let me go. I lost myself in his embrace and the delicious friction our bodies created and hit a high that stole my breath.

I cried out, shaking against him. His answering shudder echoed through my body, and the admissions I’d made earlier in the day came rushing back to me. Some had been in the heat of the moment.

All had been true.

Another shock of desire coursed through me, and I gripped him tightly. As I continued to rock against him, I knew I might not be totally ready yet, but I was almost there. I knew it wouldn’t take much until I was lost forever.

Chapter 23

Aurelia

Sometime around midmorning, the first gardener entered the work shed. Delaney, a middle-aged woman with brown skin, a moderate build, and zero tolerance for me, stopped at the end of my table. She was an incredibly smart person who knew an impressive amount about plants and various elixirs.

She ignored the glass canisters all simmering along the workstation and said, “I’m supposed to be nice to you.”

Vemar glanced at her, quirked an eyebrow, and went back to watching the end canister, which was turning an alarming shade of red.

“My old coworker said that to me once,” I replied. “He then went on to a lifetime of regret and misery. You may as well just be grumpy and try to ignore me. It would be better for us both.”

Vemar started to laugh silently.

Delaney stared at me for a moment, seemed to realize I was dead serious, and nodded. “Works for me.”

I’d have to ask Weston who said she was supposed to be nice to me, and why.

Arleth came in not long after Delaney, giving me a curt hello. I responded in kind, and then we ignored each other as well, going about our work in peaceful harmony. Except for one thing, of course: it seemed my work was a helluva lot more volatile than theirs. I’d never worked with anyone else, but my style seemed somewhat dangerous compared to theirs. Smoke and fire and fizzing happened all the time when I was creating. They kept looking over at me and at each other. I could tell they were wary.

Sometime around noon, after Vemar had brought me some lunch and ate beside me, Delaney looked around in a huff. A cursory glance didn’t offer much insight, and Vemar ignored it entirely, so I went back to my work. After a foot stomp, though, I figured it was better to break the silence.

“Is something wrong?”

She was looking out the opened door. “Someone is supposed to be here to relieve me. Arleth is in a meeting. She won’t be back in time to complete this elixir.”

I hadn’t even realized Arleth had left. But now I saw her corner by the two bubbling cauldrons was empty.

“Can I help?” I asked.

Her gaze was annoyed and speculative. “Can you follow directions?”

“Yes.”

She pondered it for a moment. “Pay attention. Write this down.”

Without looking up, Vemar held out a sheet of blank paper. I took it, readying my pencil. “Ready.”

“In ten minutes, these dried leaves here”—she pointed to a dish on the table—“need to go into that cauldron there.” She pointed again. “Those leaves”—point—“go into that one. Got that?”

I spoke as I wrote. “Ten minutes, put . . . leaves . . . next to cauldrons . . . into cauldrons. Got it.”

“You do not stir them. You just drop the leaves on top of the boiling water and let it seep in by itself.”

“Drop leaves . . . into pot. Do not stir. Perfect.”

“The water needs to keep its slow boil. It’s absolutely necessary.”

“Tend fire. Okay.”

“Can you handle that?” she asked me in a firm tone.

It was very hard to keep my sarcasm in check on this one. “Setting a timer and throwing some leaves into a pot? Yes, I can handle that.”

“Even I could handle that,” Vemar murmured.

Her look said she wasn’t so sure, but she left anyway.

“If I was guarding one of them, I’d be bored out of my fucking mind,” Vemar murmured. I laughed.


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