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| She growled at him and there was a frightening moment as his muscles tightened that Ragnar was fairly sure he was going to attack her. Made even more real by the zeroing on a specific location of her body that was optimal for sinking his teeth into. Thistle might have been fierce but Ragnar was confident he could do more than his fair share of damage to her. He was realistically larger than her, stronger and he had been raised to fight and kill. While he realized that often times the lines were blurred in their private presence of one another he was her alpha and his ears stood erect as his tail rose over his back bearing down at her desiring her submission. "I did not growl at you," Ragnar had bared his teeth in warning but he had not made any noise. It had been her to initiate the first growl. "but I can if you’d like." Because growling at her was the least harmful he wanted to do at that moment. Ragnar bristled when she looked him dead in the eye because right now he wasn’t feeling very husband-y. He was feeling like he was the Jarl and she was his subordinate treating him like a child. "Don’t look me in the eye unless you plan on fighting me to the death," He warned her lowly, "or did you forget dear wife that I am your Jarl too?" He asked her coyly though it was hardly the playful and teasing manner she was used to him taking with her.
He even, in the next moment, considered demoting her for her blatant insubordination towards him. She was his wife but she was not yet his equal in title and it bothered him that she talked to him so brazenly when he was not in any sort of mood to find the humor in it. Today, it did not turn him on. Today, it only made his stormy disposition measurably worse. He restrained himself from forcing her into submission, restrained himself from attacking her because even in the pinnacle of his dark, treacherous mood he knew he would regret it and that if he did she would never let him forget it, either; she was pushing all of his buttons with a vigor that border lined unhealthy and he felt like whatever strand of sanity he was holding onto was about to snap completely. He took a shuddering breath, feeling the familiar wave of adrenaline surge through his veins cooling the heated fire of his ire in his veins and feared that he had finally made it to the point where he didn’t need the mushrooms to go into a Berserker rage. If he allowed it to happen, here and now, the ramifications would be monstrous — not to mention he was unsure if it would fade off. What if it didn’t?
He turned from her viciously, his movements sharp because he couldn’t look at her, not on the verge of the Berserker rage building up like some horrifying crescendo within him. Ragnar had heard stories of great warriors being able to call the bloodlust to them whenever they wanted but he wasn’t ready for that kind of ability and didn’t want to deal with the ramifications that would surely come with it, uncontrolled as it would be at first. Her words were lost on him as he stood blocking her out, his sides heaving with each pant as he tried to keep everything at bay. He did not want to hurt her, he did not want to hurt her. Because she was the mother of his children, the mother of his future children. Because he loved her. When Ragnar heard her stomp away he wasted no time launching himself out of that clearing, away from the den and away from her, scrambling for Sköll knowing the boy was familiar with things like this and would be able to give him something to calm him down and if Ragnar was lucky: to sleep. |