by Slater, Lia
WereSlave
Lia Slater
As the Queen of Paqualette, Nayla is forbidden to have a husband or a human lover. Her life is a lonely and disciplined existence, so when she's given the opportunity to choose a Were from her dungeon as her sex slave, she takes a chance. Werewolves, she knows, are nothing but senseless monsters, but after the one she selects to be her WereSlave turns out to be more of a man than she's ever known, she must question her beliefs.
As the alpha leader, Mace is responsible for his pack. He'll do anything to keep them alive, even give in to the Queen's sexual demands. But not unless he's in control. Turning his enticing captor into the submissive is the only way to show her he's more man than she realizes. Falling in love is out of the question...but so is leaving her behind.
An Ellora's Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
WereSlave
ISBN 9781419924323
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WereSlave Copyright (c) 2009 Lia Slater
Edited by Meghan Conrad
Cover art by Willo
Electronic book publication December 2009
The terms Romantica(r) and Quickies(r) are registered trademarks of Ellora's Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.(r) 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.
WereSlave
Lia Slater
Chapter One
In a faraway land
Six years after the great war between Werewolf and Human
Nothing was settled.
His intense gaze from across the crowded, rancid dungeon sent a strange shudder down Nayla's back. Why he stared at her so heatedly, she had no clue. He was her prisoner, a subordinate. Many like him filled the room, but most lowered their eyes, evading her scrutiny. Most of those remaining didn't have the energy to make the effort.
But the one with the blue eyes that shimmered from between the caked-on dirt and god-knows-what didn't even bother to blink when she looked his way. And she did so now, with curiosity...and a tinge of fear.
Her awareness of him couldn't be helped. He was a peculiar one, somewhat larger and apparently bolder than the rest of the werewolf pack her guards had captured just a month ago.
Was he their leader? Were they organized enough to have a leader?
She cocked her head as she moved toward him, stepping over the remains of some poor rodent that had dared enter the dungeon. The rat had probably been a nice treat for the beasts. She pushed the thought from her mind and tried to ignore the muffled groans and labored breathing surrounding her. Her stomach churned but she refused to give them any of her pity. A species that had proven to be dangerous and unpredictable wouldn't get mercy from her. It was best for the people of her kingdom to keep these savages shackled and...human. If you could call them that. And she didn't. Wouldn't.
They needed moonlight to change into their animal state and they certainly weren't getting that in this dungeon. No, here they would remain until starvation or dehydration took them.
Or until her guards made an example of them in front of the town's people.
She stopped in front of the blue-eyed Were and met his gaze. His body shook like the rest of them but instead of lying feebly on the floor, he sat up on his knees. His broad, muscled shoulders were straight and his strong chin jutted toward her. Pride? Was it pride she sensed?
Couldn't be. Weres were savages in any state. They had two sides: kill or be killed. Sink their teeth into an innocent human or run away with their tails between their legs. She knew firsthand just how brutal they could be.
How could this one be any different?
"Do you not realize you're about to die?" she asked him, half hoping he wouldn't answer. Lord only knew if he had enough wits to form an intelligible response.
"Not..." He cleared his throat, causing himself to cough. "Not today, my lady." His voice was startlingly deep. The heady masculine tone stirred something in her belly and sent a surprising surge of warmth and yearning through her womb and inner thighs.
She sucked in her stomach and straightened her posture, frustrated and confused by her physical response. "No? How do you know this?"
His gaze swept down her body and back up again. "Because you don't look like a killer to me, my lady."
She laughed, but even to herself, she sounded stilted. Unsure of herself. Damn. Would she ever stop feeling like an imposter in her own skin?Stop it, Nayla. She pursed her lips and quickly reminded herself that her insecurities were unwarranted. She'd done something good here. A Were pack was captured and her kingdom was safe for another day.
She met her captive's forceful gaze, unwavering under its heat. "That's because I'm not a killer. You are. That's why you're here..." She let her words drift off, realizing too late she'd been looking for a name to call the beast.
"Mace Quinton." His husky voice echoed against the stone walls. "Call me Mace. And I'm not a killer, my lady. You've got that wrong."
"I'll call you whatever I please."
He blinked once and his enormous body swayed, proving to her no matter his level of strength, he was still vulnerable. And at her command. She'd need to remember that and her reason for visiting this dungeon.
She had to choose one of these beasts as her WereSlave. Her lover. All of her predecessors had followed this same path and she refused to be the first to break the tradition, although the thought of a Were touching her intimately had churned her stomach up to this point.
"Would you like this one, my Queen?" her loyal guard, Saul, asked over her shoulder.
"Queen?" the prisoner murmured. "You're the Queen?"
Nayla ignored his question. She had a difficult enough time proving to her people that she was capable of running a country. Why should she have to explain her age to a Were? Besides, she wasn't a child. She was a grown woman of twenty-five years.
Old enough to protect her people from these vicious, volatile creatures. They deserved to be in this dungeon, dying a painful death.
And this one--she looked into the Were's vibrant blue eyes--this one deserved to be used by her. Just like the Queens before her, she'd acquire a WereSlave to soothe her sexual needs and help ease the loneliness.
As the chosen Queen, she would dedicate her life solely to the country and its people. Doing so meant she'd obey Paqualette law and not take a husband. The people expected their Queen to offer a life of devotion and extreme discipline. Nayla wouldn't debate the law that had served her country for centuries.
There were gray areas between the black and white lines of the Palequette decrees, though. No, she couldn't have a husband, or even a human lover. But owning and using a WereSlave was a Queen's right. Much like wearing the finest gems or living in the largest castle.
A WereSlave was for the purpose
of her pleasure alone.
Pleasure from a Were? She let her gaze fall over the prisoner who kneeled in front of her. Although his naked body was covered in filth, she could still make out the strong set of his jaw and the cool, attractive color of his eyes. She noticed the toned muscles on his chest, arms and stomach. Curiosity had her looking down farther to his long, thick cock hanging impressively between his powerful thighs.
She hated that her skin heated and the area between her thighs grew moist. But an attraction was necessary if she was to share a bed with him.
This Were was a pleasing sight in his human form, no doubt. She hadn't thought she'd find one amongst the mongrels who wouldn't nauseate her, let alone make her quiver with anticipation.
"Do you like what you see, my Queen?" he asked as his body swayed again.
Weak. He was very weak. Good.
"Do not speak unless I ask it of you."
He needed to learn his place if he were to be hers. She didn't know how this meeting was supposed to go, or how the Queens before her had chosen their WereSlaves. She only knew that the Were before her piqued her interest on so many levels, enough to want to touch him. Unable to help herself, she leaned forward to glide a finger down his angular jaw. But he jerked away from her and lost his balance, falling back onto his rear.
Hmm... So he wasn't as powerful as he made himself seem.
Masculine but vulnerable.
He'd be perfect.
"Yes, I'd like to take him." Nayla pointed at her new WereSlave and looked over her shoulder at Saul. "Please clean him, feed him and then secure him in the transition cell."
"Yes, my Queen."
The Were rose up to his knees again. "Where do you think to take me?"
She couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry, slave. Just as you'd guessed, you won't be dying today."
* * * * *
Nayla rushed through her obligatory dinner with the visiting duke and duchess, holding back a grimace each time they reached for each other's hands or leaned in for an affectionate kiss.
She'd never have the love of a husband or children and no matter how often she'd told herself it didn't matter, that her position as the Queen was so much more important, she still felt the sting of loneliness. She would live this life on her own.
The Queen before her had left her notes, stating the use of a WereSlave would alleviate some of her weariness. Nayla doubted it. She certainly wasn't expecting miracles. After all, he was merely an animal. Sure, he could speak and he looked and seemed human but he was nothing more than a barbarian.
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.
