The Alpha's Slave

Agnes POV

Cyrus did not return until hours later. At first, I had been bored to death and roamed around the palace, trying to explore places of my own. I had initially considered escaping from this place but it was not worth it. We had spent two days on the road and I was sure it was not a journey I could make on my own if I intended to return home. 

From what I had speculated, there was no safer place here than the palace. The neighboring city belonged to the Southern Wolves and that zone was not human friendly. Stepping one foot in there meant I was going to die and never see my siblings again. They were the only family I wanted to return to. 

Midway into my wandering, I stumbled upon a large building that happened to be the library and I had picked up a book that told the story of how werewolves came to be. I had been so intrigued by reading about their history, culture, and ceremonies that I did not notice how much time had gone by. One thing that intrigued me the most about the wolves was how most of them had a soulmate also known as 'mates'. They were not like us humans who had to search far and wide to find the perfect match. Theirs was sent straight from their goddess which I found beautiful. 

At some point during my reading, I wished I was a werewolf.

When I looked out of the window and saw how pitch dark it was outside, that was when I came to my senses and ran back to Alpha Cyrus quarters. I exhaled in relief when I saw that he was not yet back and prepared a bath for him. 

Just as I was done, he waltzed into the room. He regarded me with emotionless eyes as he took off his shirt and I swallowed hard, looking away. 

"Has my bath been prepared?" He asked in a cold voice. 

I nodded, unable to speak for some reason. 

"Good."

I stood in the middle of the room, waiting to hear his call of complaint from the bathroom about the water either being too hot or too cold but there was none. He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still drenched in water and a towel hanging lazily on his waist; exposing a dangerous v-line. 

He sat in front of his vanity table and after more minutes of silence, he finally broke it. "Do I have to tell you that you are meant to get me ready for bed? I need my hair toweled dry and my skincare routine prepared."

I wanted to be smart with him and tell him I was not briefed about anything here so he could not just assume what I was supposed to do but I kept quiet, seeing that he was in a bad mood. 

A part of me wanted to know what caused the sudden soreness in his mood. It was not as though he was particularly jovial before now, but there was an obvious change in his mood.

The curious part of me could not resist asking. "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" He asked with a sigh. 

"Your mood—"

"Is none of your business," he snapped. "The things you need are in that drawer."

"Right," I muttered, opening the drawer. I pulled out a towel and wrapped it around his head, gently massaging his scalp and allowing the fabric to soak up the water from his hair. Then when most of it had been soaked up, I took a comb and went through the strands of hair. When that was done, I dropped the comb and wrapped his hair in another towel. 

"What next?" I asked him. 

"I feel tense, help me with a shoulder massage."

"Okay," I answered. I was not sure how to give one but I decided to try. Gingerly, I placed my fingers on his shoulders and applied a little bit of pressure, moving in a circular motion. 

He placed his hand on my shoulders suddenly and I froze. There seemed to be a strange crackle of great intensity as his hands touched mine. I looked at him through the mirror, and I could feel something strange moving in my tummy. 

There was a strange voice inside me, whispering something I could not particularly hear. It seemed as though something was blocking the voice from speaking up.

His hands traveled up my arm slowly, sending an oddly delicious feeling between my legs as he slowly brought my fingers down to his bare chest. My heart throbbed and I could feel as though there was a form of connection between the two of us. Like something was binding us.

I watched him through the mirror and as if under a spell, he stood up and faced me. Spinning me around, I found myself being carried and gently placed on the vanity table. He stood between my legs, sending heat waves through my thighs and his right thumb parted my lips slowly. His hands dropped to my neck and drew slowly as he painfully seduced circles with them. He leaned in closer, our noses rubbing each other and his lips only mere inches away from mine. His left hand was on my thigh, inching upwards very slowly.

Something within me whispered again but I could not decipher what it was saying. 

"You're human." His hot breath fanned my face. It was a statement but it seemed more like a question to me. 

"Yes," I answered shakily, wanting more. I needed to satisfy that hunger that he had awakened in me.

"And my slave..."

"As of three days ago, yes." My voice had become a breathy whisper.

"This can't be." A look of confusion appeared on his face as he looked at me. With a sigh, and in a strangled voice, Alpha Cyrus said. "I can't accept you as my mate.”