Were Slave (2010) (2 page)

One that undoubtedly needed to be tamed.

She said her goodbyes to the Duke and Duchess and then
anxiously took the castle stairs up to the transition cell. Once outside the
door, she adjusted her silk dress and combed her fingers through her
disobedient curls.

Why do you care what you look like, Nayla?

She clamped down the nervousness growing in her chest. Who
was she trying to impress anyway? He was her property, not her companion.

This was his punishment, not his reward. She wasn't to treat
him as an equal.

Holding her head high, she pushed open the heavy wooden door
and stepped inside. Five of her guards surrounded a bed where a large naked man
lay shackled. Each chain was bolted securely to either the brick wall or floor.

Saul stepped in front of her, blocking her view before she
had a chance to see how well the WereSlave cleaned up. "My Queen." He bowed.
"He's been washed and fed, as you requested."

"Why so many of you?" Nayla asked, her cheeks warming as she
realized her guards were more than aware of the point of all this.

To satisfy their Queen's sexual urges.

But she refused to show her embarrassment. Not when it had
taken her four years to gain their respect.

Saul cleared his throat. "He put up quite a fight, my Queen.
I'm afraid we had to use force to get him to settle."

"A fight?" She peeked over Saul's shoulder and noticed blood
trickling from the Were's nose and a cut on his cheek. His eyes were swollen
and bruises and contusions covered his naked body. "Oh, my. What've you done to
him?"

Nayla pushed passed the guards and stood over the bed. The
WereSlave's breathing was even, at least. And he looked so much different now
that he was clean.

Like a man.

Strong, feral, masculine. Muscles curved along his arms,
chest and legs. They rippled along his stomach. She leaned closer. He smelled
like a mixture of blood, soap and something she couldn't pinpoint. Something
animalistic, but not in the way she'd thought.

Not in the way she'd remembered.

This Were's scent was musky and alluring. Seductive. She
wanted to reach out and rake her fingers through his long, raven hair as it
spread out over the white sheets. But even in his sleep his tanned, athletic
body flexed with warning.

She licked her lips and let herself fantasize how he would
feel on top of her, pumping inside of her as she spread her legs for him. He
was hers to do with what she wanted. The mere thought of it forced a wave of
heat up her chest to her neck. This glorious man belonged to her. Man? No, he
was a Were. A beast. She would have to remind herself of that.

"He should be fine, my Queen," Saul said from behind her.

"What?" Her voice cracked as she spun around to face the
guards. "Oh, yes. I'll see to it his wounds are taken care of. But now that he
is the property of the Queen, I ask that you treat him gingerly." Right as she
said the words, she wished them back. What was she saying?

An echo of chuckles filled the room. Even her loyal Saul
couldn't hold back a smile. "Yes, my Queen, we will try."

"Do you find something funny?" she asked them, annoyed with
their lack of decorum.

They each shook their heads no.

"Good. You're dismissed."

"My Queen." Saul stepped toward her as the other guards
shuffled out of the room. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to be alone with him
just yet. He hasn't been tamed. The guards who washed and brought him here are
in the infirmary as a result."

"My God. Are they all right?" Instant guilt consumed her.
She hadn't thought of anyone being hurt by this.

"They'll heal. I only wish for you to take precaution. The
chains give him enough slack to, well, to complete his purpose but I fear he
may have enough leeway to harm you. As your majesty's chief guard, I must
object. Your safety is my main concern."

If she hadn't respected Saul's opinion, she'd have been
offended by his candor. The man had been her devotee since the day she'd walked
into this castle. Though he'd been acting strangely since she'd ordered the
trespassing Weres to be captured and imprisoned.

She watched him closely, noting his reddened cheeks and the
light perspiration on his forehead. Then decided to forgive his frankness,
thinking he must truly be concerned for her wellbeing. "Thank you, Saul. I'll
be fine. You can go now."

"Yes, my Queen. Just know that I'll be right outside the
door if you need me." He turned on his heel to leave but changed his mind and
faced her again. "You, uh, you don't have to do this, you know. With your past
and all. People would understand if you decided not to take a WereSlave. A
Vampire would also--"

"No." God, she did not want to discuss this with Saul or
anyone else. Her memories were her own and she wanted to keep them locked
hidden in the back of her mind, where she didn't have to think of them.
"Enough, Saul. While I appreciate your concern for my safety, my word is final
and not open to debate. There will be no further discussion about this matter."

"Yes, my Queen." The middle-aged man nodded and exited the
room.

Nayla drew out a breath and turned toward the bed.
Excitement and anxiety and that annoying tinge of fear sat heavy in her
stomach. First things first, his wounds needed to be cleaned.

The maids had left a washcloth and a basin filled with water
on the bureau, so she grabbed the cloth, soaked it and wrung it out. She sat on
the mattress next to him, probably too close, but she needed to be able to
examine his wounds. She took in the sizeable length of his body and was
surprised to see the cuts and bruises begin to heal before her very eyes. He
stirred again and a growl rumbled in his chest.

"It's all right," she whispered, desperately trying to
ignore the terror burning her eyes and making her woozy. Yes, he was a
dangerous creature, but he would need to learn to trust and obey her if this
was to work. When he realized it was either her or decapitation, she was sure
he'd make the right choice. She could only hope he was intelligent enough to be
reasonable.

And to not harm her.

With a trembling hand, she gently wiped the blood caked
under his strong nose and on his lips. She curved the damp cloth over each lip,
outlining the ridges of his mouth as it rounded slightly fuller at the bottom.
Then she angled it along his cut jawline, clean-shaven as she'd requested.

His skin was warm, almost hot, as she ran the cloth down his
neck to his broad shoulder, over his muscled chest.

He was a gorgeous man. It was difficult to keep thinking of
him as a killer. But just as she thought this, the slack chain attached to his
arm rattled and he grabbed her wrist, his large calloused hands firmly holding
her in place.

She gasped and tried to lurch from his grasp and out of his
reach, but he was too quick and powerful. He gripped her waist with both hands
and pulled her to the bed. Too fast for her eyes to follow, he pinned her on
her back with the weight of his body. Once there, he easily held her wrists
with one of his hands above her head. The loose chains were useless.

A scream lodged in her throat as he looked down at her, his
lips only centimeters from hers as his long locks of black hair encompassed her
face. She should have struggled but fear paralyzed her. Her breath halted as
she stared dumbly up at him.

How stupid was she for sitting too near him, allowing him to
capture her.

"What were you doing?" he growled and strengthened the hold
on her wrists.

"I...I was cleaning your wounds." Nayla wondered how long he'd
been awake, lying there and allowing her to run that washcloth over his body.

"You mean the wounds your men caused?" His sapphire eyes
gleamed as a wicked smile twitched at his lips. "They told me I would be your
slave." He moved against her body, pressing his cock into the valley between
her thighs. "I'm no one's slave, my Queen."

"Then you choose death? Those are your two choices." Her
voice came out as a whisper, making her threat useless. Her body shook with
anger, fear and curious desire all at once. She'd never responded to a man like
this before. Equal parts of her brain wanted to kick him and taste his tongue
in her mouth. Feel his shaft slide deep inside of her or scream bloody murder
as she fled from the room.

His solid cock wedged harder against her thigh and she
swallowed.

"Where are your protectors now?" He dropped his mouth to her
ear and his hot breath rushed against her cheek, prickling her skin. "Are they
so foolish, to leave their fragile Queen alone with a monster?"

"It was my choice to be alone with you." She kept her voice
soft, a small attempt to show him how being her WereSlave wouldn't be such an
agonizing task. She could be an enticing partner even if she was his master. If
he found her attractive, that was. "What would you do with me?" she dared ask.

A husky chuckle rumbled into her ear. "You've imprisoned my
pack and reduced us to dogs. I should throttle your thin neck until you're
breathless."

"If I so much as let out a yelp your pack will be put to
immediate death by decapitation." The only way they could die besides
starvation and dehydration.

"Damn you," he growled. "Damn all of you."

"I don't wish you to die, Mace." She used his name to soothe
him but it felt odd leaving her lips. As if she'd said it a million times
before. "I only wish your company." Slowly she caressed his calf with her foot,
gently running it along the solid muscle.

The first time wouldn't be so bad. Oddly enough, she wanted
him. A Were. The same sort of creature who'd made her life a living nightmare.
But she wanted him because he was hers. No matter that he was on top of her,
pinning her down, she had the power. She was in control of his destiny, not the
other way around.

He lifted off her and looked down with narrowed eyes. "My
company? You wish..." Realization dawned on his face.

So he wasn't an imbecile. No, he wasn't that at all.

Mace ground his teeth, loathing that his body responded to
the way she slid her soft, delicate foot up and down his leg, how her thighs
moved to spread for him. How he felt her heat even through her extravagant,
golden silk dress. His cock stiffened as he lay naked on top of her lush body.
She stared up at him with her sensual eyes, while her pink tongue slid over her
full lips.

The Queen of Paqualette was asking for trouble.

If she hadn't reminded him of someone dear from his past,
he'd have killed her by now. Left her dead and rescued his pack, or tried to
anyway. But she looked so much like Elizabeth. He stared into the same green
eyes and watched the same sumptuous lips part as she exhaled a sweet breath.

His body reacted with a burning desire.

What was the catch? He knew nothing of this country, of
their culture. His pack had been passing through, looking for a place to call
home, a place where they weren't feared or hated by humans or Vamps.

Then they'd been ambushed, captured in the light of the day
and imprisoned like rabid dogs. What had they fought for during the Great Were
War if they were still to be treated this way?

The mere thought enraged him. The woman underneath him
seemed both intelligent and naive. Both fragile and imperial. And she looked so
much like the wife he'd had when he was full human a lifetime ago.

Elizabeth.

But this woman wielded power enough to ruin his entire pack
with the nod of her head.

"Mace?" She pressed her sweet lips to his. "I want you. Do
you want me?"

Air gushed from his lungs. She didn't know what she was
asking.

His body tensed as his defiant cock throbbed. Yes, he wanted
her. He'd wanted her the moment she'd walked into the dungeon. Her petite body
with abundant breasts that nearly spilled out of her dress. Wild blonde
ringlets of hair that fell over her shoulders. Large green eyes perfect for
seducing. Rosy lips that bowed, pouted and begged to be nibbled.

So much like his late wife, but not her at all. No, this
woman didn't deserve his respect. She didn't deserve his gentle touch.

What she deserved was to be fucked.

* * * * *

Nayla waited anxiously, attempting to smooth her ragged
breathing. She wasn't sure what to expect next as he lay stiffly against her.
She'd think she disgusted him if she hadn't felt his weighty erection pushing
between her thighs.

Relief flooded her when he finally released her wrists. His
chains rattled as he sat up and straddled her. She eyed his shaft, which stood
high and proud, arching toward his rippled stomach. It was as impressive as the
rest of his lean, muscled body. Long, thick and beautiful. Her fingers itched
to touch him. Her mouth yearned to taste him.

Yes. He was hers. She'd chosen well.

But she drew in a calming breath and allowed her WereSlave to
make the first move.

His gaze drifted over her body for what felt like a century,
from her lips to her eyes to her chest then back up to her lips. Would he kiss
her? Did he desire her enough to give her that?

Slowly, he edged his rough hands over her shoulders and down
to cup her sensitive breasts.

"Oh," she said with a breath. She was no virgin. She'd had a
casual lover before she'd been chosen to be the next Queen, but it had been
over four years since a man had touched her this way.

Mace massaged her through her dress, capturing her breasts
with his large hands. She arched into his firm grasp and watched him as his
gaze roamed over her body. Her tingling breasts swelled at his attention. Her
aching nipples beaded as the coarse graze of his thumbs swept against the thin
silk.

God, it all felt so good. So right. And she hoped he
wouldn't come to his senses any time soon.