Chapter 745: What Are You Waiting For?

The room was vast, warm, and bathed in a soft, intoxicating golden ambiance. A large stone hearth built into the far wall crackled quietly, casting long, swaying shadows of amber light across the room.

The air inside was thick, fragrant, and deeply sensual... carrying the rich aroma of burning cedar, crushed night-blooming orchids, and the unmistakable, subtle heat of her personal essence.

The floor was covered in thick, pristine white mammoth pelts that muffled every sound. Along the walls hung ancient, hand-woven tapestries depicting primeval hunts, while carved wooden shelves held rare mineral crystals and polished bone ornaments.

But Sol’s gaze didn’t linger on the tapestries or the crystals.

His crimson eyes locked instantly onto the center of the room.

There, raised upon a low, wide platform of polished dark wood, was a massive wooden bed draped in layers of thick, snow-white pelt furs.

And reclining casually across those white furs was Veylara.

Sol’s breath caught slightly in his throat.

She had completely cast aside the heavy, formal armor of the Warchief and the stern crimson tunic she had worn during the day.

Instead, she was clad in a simple, loose-fitting robe of semi-translucent, cream-white wild silk... a rare, luxurious fabric captured from the Coalition’s high-tier trade hoards.

The fabric was so thin, so light, that the ambient firelight passed straight through it, tracing the breathtaking, lethal contours of her frame with agonizing clarity.

The low neckline of the tunic was loose, dipping dangerously low, exposing the elegant, long curve of her neck, her sharp collarbones, and the full, heavy swell of her breasts, where her dark, taut nipples pressed prominently against the thin, semi-sheer fabric.

The thin fabric pulled taut across her firm, flat stomach, highlighting the subtle, athletic indentation of her waist before flaring out over the magnificent, breathtaking curve of her hips and long, sculpted thighs.

Her dark, lustrous hair fell in wild, unbraided waves over one shoulder, spilling across the pristine white furs like black silk.

Her long, muscled legs were bare, one knee drawn up casually while the other lay stretched out, exposing her smooth, sun-kissed calves and delicate ankles.

She didn’t wear a single piece of jewelry, nor did she use exquisite colors.

Yet, lying there in the soft firelight, she looked infinitely more dangerous... and infinitely more intoxicating... than any modern beauty in sheer, provocative bikini could ever dream of being.

She was an absolute masterpiece of primal, sovereign womanhood: seductive, powerful, magnificently curved, radiating a fierce, mature allure that practically demanded a man to drop to his knees or tear the clothes from her body.

Veylara leaned her head back against a pile of fur pillows, her deep sapphire eyes gleaming with a lazy, smoky heat as she watched him enter. A slow, wicked, and thoroughly possessive smirk bloomed on her full, berry-tinted lips.

She propped her cheek lightly in one palm, her long fingers idly tracing the soft white fur beneath her hip.

"What are you standing there for?" Veylara murmured, her sapphire eyes narrowing with explicit, unholy invitation. "Come here."

Sol didn’t need to be told twice.

He kicked the carved cedar door shut behind him with a dull, heavy thud that echoed softly against the ironwood walls, sealing the rest of the world outside.

The heavy latch clicked into place, cutting off the vast, empty council hall and leaving only the private, golden sanctuary of her bedchamber.

But he didn’t move immediately. Instead, he stood at the edge of the plush white mammoth furs, his crimson eyes slowly tracing every inch of the view presented before him... from the dark, spilling waves of her unbraided hair down the deep, loose curve of her wild-silk tunic, past the soft dip of her waist, and along the long, glistening line of her bare, golden-tan legs.

A slow, wolfish grin spread across his face, his eyes glinting with raw, unvarnished hunger.

She certainly saw his undisguise hunger and appreciation but she didn’t adjust the loose collar of her tunic, nor did she make the slightest move to pull the thin fabric over her exposed shoulder.

Instead, she stretched out her long legs with lazy, predatory grace, her sapphire eyes locked onto his broad frame like an apex hunter watching its prize step onto its territory.

"You certainly know how to keep a woman waiting," She drawled, looking at him with same burning hunger.

Veylara murmured, her voice dripping with a sultry, dark sweetness that made the skin on his arms prickle. "And here I thought my Supreme Spear was a man of his word. You promised me a full, thorough report by nightfall.

Yet the sun dipped below the woods hours ago, and I was left sitting in these furs, wondering if you’d forgotten where the lodge was."

"Forgotten?" Sol stopped right beside the raised wooden platform, looking down at the magnificent, sovereign woman reclining beneath him. With two practiced flicks of his wrists, he unbuckled the hook, letting the Dreadwing blade in its polished sheath drop to the floor beside the bed platform with a dull, heavy THUD.

He reached down, catching the hem of his clean linen shirt, and pulled it over his head in a single, fluid motion, tossing the cloth onto a nearby chest.

His broad, sun-bronzed torso emerged into the firelight... scarred, dense, and corded with thick, powerful muscles that rippled with every breath.

The volcanic heat radiating off his sun core flared softly, warming the cool air of the room and causing the thin silk of Veylara’s robe to press even tighter against her skin as her breathing subtly hitched.

"Had a few pests to clear out," Sol said smoothly, taking unhurried step across the pristine white furs.

"Pests, huh?" Veylara rasped softly, her hand sliding along the soft white pelts as Sol stepped onto the low wooden platform. "You look awfully energetic for a man who spent the day wrestling in the woods."

"I cleaned up," Sol smirked, stepping onto the bed and crawling towards her. "Didn’t want to bring forest mud into the Warchief’s bed. Thought I’d show some manners."

"Manners?" Veylara let out a breathless, husky scoff, her lips curling into a wicked, challenging smile as she looked up into his burning crimson eyes. "Since when have you ever possessed manners, you shameless brute?"

"Since never," Sol grunted.

Before she could utter another word, Sol moved.