Married To The Mad Vampire Lord novel Chapter 118

Chapter 118: The boy in the painting

"What are you doing here?" came Rohan’s displeased, detached voice.

It took Belle a moment to steady her disoriented mind and return to reality. When she finally looked up, her eyes met Rohan’s hardened, handsome face, drawn tight with displeasure. He was scowling, his thick, fine brows knitted together and his pink lips pressed into a firm line.

For a foolish second, her heart skipped a beat when her gaze fell on those familiar dark eyes of his.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she had seen in that painting, and she was tempted to turn and look at it again to see if she would understand it now that she had seen flashes of memories, but the look in Rohan’s eyes made her gulp anxiously and freeze in place.

"You are here..." she managed to say through lips that seemed to suddenly go dry, and she subconsciously moistened them with her tongue. His eyes trailed to her lips with that action, and to her relief, his hardened face softened a little, and his tight grip around her upper arm loosened to almost a caress.

"Where else should I be?" he said in a deep, smooth voice that made her ache in ways that had nothing to do with her heart.

With your whores. Belle turned crimson at that thought, which she dared not voice for fear of admitting her jealousy over him being with other women. It wasn’t in her place to voice her displeasure. She had been taught that much. Women have no right.

She had come to find his whores’ quarters with Kuhn’s help, but instead, the creature had led her to his art chamber—filled with strange paintings that, judging from Rohan’s expression, was not a place he welcomed visitors.

Kuhn. She realized, with a sinking feeling, that the creature had actually deserted her. He was nowhere to be seen in the room when she glanced around subtly.

He had brought her to the lion’s den... and then escaped!

"What are you doing in here, touching things you shouldn’t, Isa?" he repeated the question, watching her and studying her with that scowl on his face. He wasn’t smiling nor smirking, and Belle felt her insides melting into a helpless puddle of yearning that surged within her. She rather preferred him smiling.

She had missed him, she realized. He had been away for just a week, but it felt like an endless lifetime. She wanted to move forward and rest her head against his chest—but she fought that urge, especially when she saw the way his brows arched, as if he were still waiting for her answer.

From his looks, it did not seem like he felt the same way she did. He looked like his usual self with no signs of longing like she was probably giving away now. She composed herself and cleared her throat. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of him. She thought firmly.

"Nothing, I was touring the castle when I found this room," she lied, and before he could ask how she had opened the locked door—which she suspected he was about to, with his parting lips—she quickly pulled her arm away from him and turned to the dark painting behind her.

She had touched it, and it had taken her to a dark memory that still lingered in the back of her mind—the sounds of whimpering and silent sobs, and the hoarse voice of the boy—it tugged a string in her heart.

Staring at it, she realized she still couldn’t figure out what was painted in the canvas and she asked, "Did you paint all this?" She gestured towards the many covered canvases. free𝑤ebnovel.com

She heard his nonchalant reply from behind, "Yes."

Belle turned to him with surprised eyes. She had suspected he had painted the uncovered ones, but then—all of them? It was astonishing, as the room was spacious, yet the canvases covered almost every corner.

She could never have known he was this skilled, that behind those dead eyes and that unbothered air was an artist. But thinking about it now, she realized that only someone like Rohan could paint something so dark and unsettling—only he could draw his muse from the shadows and bring it to life in a way that only he could understand.

"I never knew you were an artist..." she voiced her thoughts, looking at him with admiration in her hazel eyes. Rohan chuckled softly.

"It’s something I enjoyed doing in the past, and I recently found another inspiration to go back to it."

You became my muse and inspiration, he added in his mind, watching her, liking the admiration he glimpsed on her face.

Had it been anyone else who had come into his special art room, Rohan would have had their head on a platter and used the blood to paint the image of the head on one of his canvases.

He hated anyone invading the things he held dear, like his treasure room. He had done it before, and if his bunny had gone around uncovering many of the canvases, she would have seen the paintings of many unfortunate idiots who had wandered where they shouldn’t have.

But it was just her, and though he had felt a flicker of annoyance, it was quickly disarmed by the longing he glimpsed in those hazel, beautiful eyes.

It seemed his time away from her, and his decision to avoid her to cultivate her feelings for him, had paid off. She had come looking for him.

Days ago, he had been against Cordelia training her and had considered getting someone else to do it. But then he realized his cousin wasn’t dense enough to do anything improper in his castle with his wife. He had allowed the training, and, wanting to see his wife molded into someone stronger, he hadn’t interfered with the harsh regimen.

She had been annoyed, but she didn’t know it was for her own good. The exercises were good for her slender body, and when she had told him not to bother her, he realized and remembered her words about the feeling of love.

Her gasp was instant, but he swallowed it, kissing her like it was the only thing that could shut out the chaos inside him that was rising with her questions.

His hand curled around the back of her neck, the other flattening against her waist, dragging her into the heat of him. She went rigid for half a second—but then she melted, her lips parting for him as if she had no defense left to give.

It was hard. Raw. A kiss that stole the breath from her lips and silenced every word she hadn’t yet spoken. Her fingers gripped his shirt, knuckles whitening as sensation took over her entire body, blurring away the questions and making her weak in the knees. A thread of heat burst into molten bliss, and her mouth parted for him when he probed with his warm tongue, invading her mouth.

Rohan could feel the way her breath caught in her chest, the way her body leaned in, arching, craving for his. She kissed him back like she was falling—and he was the only thing left to catch her.

God, she tasted like fire and something too soft to name. She had improved so much in kissing he forgot just where he was and deepened the kiss, pressing his mouth harder, his tongue teasing hers just enough to make her body tremble.

Her mouth was soft, warm, unguarded—and he devoured it like a man starved. She moaned into his kiss, then boldly nipped his lower lip and drew it into the heat of hers, suckling with a teasing slowness that made his lower abdomen clench. He groaned, deep and guttural, pressing into her like it was the only way to stay sane.

His wife would be the death of him. A burst of molten heat unfurled low in his loins, sharp and consuming, and it struck him so hard he abruptly tore his mouth away, his fragile control hanging by a thread.

Her lips followed him, eyes closed, mouth parted, shamelessly chasing his, and for a second he forgot how to breathe as he stared at that adorable, reddened face.

A smile tugged at his lips, and then he leaned back in and pressed a single, slow kiss to her shameless lips, nothing like the first, just a lingering touch of possession.

"Silly little wife," he whispered against her mouth, voice thick, rough. "How were your days without your husband?" He moved back when her eyes suddenly flew open. "I hope it was miserable."

Belle, whose brain had momentarily seemed to desert her, began to slowly return to her senses after the kiss that seemed to not last longer than her depraved body yearned for. It took a moment for her to understand his words and his meaning, and she frowned.

"You are wicked," she accused, glaring at him. He had left and not come to her because he wanted her to be miserable? Heartless devil!

He chuckled at her words and then replied, "And you still want me like that, don’t you, my silly naughty little wife?" He pinched her nose playfully.

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